Following the Clues
by rebelrsr
Summary: A death on the team brings in a new investigator.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of these sexy characters belong to me. I'm just having a bit of fun with them.

Spoilers: Pretty much everything

Feedback: I live for it…

Archiving: Just ask first.

A/N: A very special thanks to Zigpal, Ivy, and Malea for the beta on this one.

Sara hung up the phone and leaned back. Grissom wanted her to come to Vegas and do a little private digging on one of his crew. She frowned. It wasn't really her thing. You didn't run counter to teammates, even if they weren't yours. Still, she was ready for a move, and Grissom had impressed her when they'd met a few years ago. She stood and started to pace across her small office. She was bored; Sara didn't deal well with that emotion – any emotion, really.

Heading for the door, she strode out into the hall, headed for her supervisor's office. Frankel was, as usual, sitting behind his desk working on the pile of reports. "Hey, Boss? You got a minute?" Sara inquired, leaning against the door frame.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" he mumbled.

"That depends." Sara smiled, entering the office and closing the door behind her. Dropping into one of the chairs, she propped booted feet on the desk. "I just got a call from an – well, not quite an old friend. He's looking for someone to come in and investigate a problem on his crew. Think I might get a little leave time, you know, in the spirit of cooperation?"

The day shift supervisor sat forward, elbows on the desk, and studied the young brunette in his office. "You leaving us, Sara?"

A small smile quirked one side of her mouth. "You want the truth?"

Frankel's bald head nodded.

"Giving it some serious thought." Sara's left leg started bouncing against the desk. "I'm bored, Frank. I'm not looking to leave, but I need a change, something more challenging than what I've been doing"

"There's an opening for a shift supervisor on graves."

Sara shook her head immediately. "Not looking for more paperwork, Boss." She met his eyes. "I'd like to go to Vegas, help Grissom out. Is it going to be a problem for the leave or do I need to resign?"

The older man frowned, clearly not happy. "Look, Sara, you're one of the best I have. Tell me what I need to do to keep you." He stood and moved around the cluttered desk. "Spill, Sidle. I don't want to hire and train someone new."

Rubbing her hands nervously on her pant legs, Sara considered the question. "You remember that case last month? The gunshot victim from the Marina district?" She waited for some flicker of recognition before continuing. "I did the initial collection. It was routine, from start to finish. Husband cheats on wife, wife finds out, wife shoots husband."

Clearly not understanding her problem, Frankel shrugged. "Yeah. Another solved case for the files."

"Maybe. It was nice to have that much evidence, but I just…" she trailed off. "I'm tired of the usual. I have eight open cases in my box and not one of them is anything more than that case. It's all just connect the dots, but the dots are right together."

"And you think moving to Vegas is going to make crime different? Use your head, kid. They _all_ follow the same pattern. It's just evidence. You aren't in the business of exciting." Dropping tiredly into the chair next to Sara's he muttered, "I can authorize thirty days of leave. You're entitled because you've been here a few years. But, at the end of that leave, I expect you to be back here, with a smile on your face."

Now that the decision was nearly made, Sara hesitated. Did she really want to go to Vegas? The case was a hot one, and she'd be investigating another CSI. That was a guaranteed headache. Warring internally for a minute, she finally nodded. "OK. I'll take that month, Boss. And, I'll be back to torment you for the rest of your unhappy life."

"Tragedy struck early this morning when an on-duty Las Vegas criminalist was brutally gunned down," the blonde newscaster announced, staring earnestly at the camera. Wrapping her arms around herself, Catherine numbly listened as the special report continued. "It was her first night on the job." _Yeah, but only because I talked her into staying. _ She felt Nick come up behind her, his attention on the TV. "The crime lab now faces the daunting task of investigating the shooting of one of their own."

Trying to shove down those lingering feelings of guilt, Catherine spun. Warrick lounged against a low cabinet. "Weren't you supposed to be with her?" she accused.

"I was. I mean, I dropped her off and then went on a coffee run. There was an officer at the scene." His voice was rough, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"You left Holly solo? It was her first night." She stared at her colleague in disbelief. What the hell had he been thinking? "A coffee run doesn't take long. Why weren't you there when it happened?"

Shoving off the counter, Warrick shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I got a call from Grissom about the toenail case. I left and hooked up with him." He raised tormented eyes. "Cat, there was an officer on scene. How could I know…?" A shaking hand rubbed the stubble on his chin. "It was supposed to be an easy print job. Look, I feel bad enough, OK?"

A tense silence developed until Grissom entered the room abruptly. He swept the conference room with a quick glance. Then, voice quiet and flat, he started to lay out the particulars of the case. "Brass assigned Warrick to shadow Holly on a robbery. He left her at the scene. The suspect returned. And Holly was shot."

Catherine marveled at his calm. During the delivery of information, Grissom poured himself a cup of coffee, avoiding any eye contact or questions. Finally, she spoke up. "That's it? That's all we know?" She strode up to the small table in the room and placed both palms on it. "I want this case, Gil. Whatever plans you have for it, get rid of them."

"I can't do that, and you know it," he replied, turning around. "You're already emotionally invested in this case. Nick can work Holly's case. He's the only one of us with no direct contact with her. I want this to all be above board and handled in house. If the Sheriff thinks we have an axe to grind or we're protecting Warrick, he'll call in IA." He handed Nick the assignment card.

Without thinking, Catherine reached over and plucked it out of the young man's grasp. "No offense, Nick, but this one's mine. Holly came to me and wanted to quit. I talked her into staying. If anyone's responsible for her shooting, it's me." She glared at Grissom, daring him. "It's mine, Gil. If you want me off it, fire me."

I'm not firing anybody," came the measured reply. "I know we're pulling a double and we're all on edge because of Holly. And, as of now, we're shorthanded." Into the sudden silence, he continued, meeting Catherine's angry gaze. "I'm bringing in Sara Sidle to give us a hand."

The name was familiar. Grissom had mentioned her before, Cat remembered. "That friend of yours from San Francisco?" she asked. Her only answer was a small dip of Gil's chin. "This isn't a good time to bring in new faces, Gil," she opined. "New faces poke and prod and ask questions. They don't know the rules, and they get in the way."

"It's Sara or IA, Cat." Gil shrugged. "Like it or not, she's our best option."

Storming passed her coworkers, the redhead tossed over her shoulder, "Perfect. Just what we need – someone sniffing around."

Sara shifted in the small airplane seat and flipped to another page in the report Grissom had faxed her before she left San Francisco. Information was minimal. Some grainy crime scene photos and a summary of the case. Pulling a pen from its resting place on the neck of her T-shirt, she started scribbling notes as the captain blared through the cabin, announcing their arrival at McCarran International Airport.

Once the plane had pulled up to the terminal gate, Sara impatiently waited for the seats to empty. She had a lot to do before arriving at the crime lab. The other CSIs were going to be closed mouthed. That was just standard when people started asking about a case, but Sara had to find a way around that. Grissom expected results, and Sara was too much of a perfectionist to settle for less than the truth. Plucking her suitcases off the belt, she staggered outside and hailed a cab. She had the address of a hotel catering to business travelers. Mentally running over her to do list, she missed the drive through the lights and action of The Strip.

Checking in to the small hotel room, Sara took a quick shower and changed out of her rumpled jeans. She opted for comfort and layers, figuring the blistering heat would turn chill when the sun dropped behind the hills. Dragging on charcoal slacks, lavender shirt, and her favorite green sweater, she ran a hand through her hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. "OK, Sidle. This is it. Time to prove you are more than just some kid in a lab coat." The reflection had no response, but Sara felt better just hearing the words. She grabbed a large satchel and some supplies and headed out.

As promised, Grissom had left the keys to one of the crime lab vehicles with the front desk of the hotel. The Tahoe was far roomier than anything she'd driven in San Francisco and she enjoyed the stop and go drive to the scene of the crime. Flashing identification at the three deputies at the door, she stepped inside the small dwelling. Casting a jaundiced eye around the room, she noted fingerprint power on all the surfaces and blood stains on the floor near the bed and nightstand. The phone – from the nightstand? - lay on the floor. Since she wasn't officially part of the crime scene unit yet, she didn't go beyond the doorway, but contented herself with merely examining from afar. Satisfied that the photos Grissom had sent her showed her the same as the scene, Sara left again.

Climbing into the Tahoe, Sara flicked open her cell phone and dialed.

"Grissom."

"Hey, it's Sara. I'm in town. You wanna get together?" She lunged across the vehicle for her notepad. The brunette scribbled the address her new boss rattled off. "Got it. I'm at the scene now, but I should be there soon." The call ended abruptly when Grissom hung up on her last words. Dropping her phone onto the passenger seat, she closed the vehicle door and turned the ignition and pulled out. She was really racking up the miles today.

The address Grissom had given her was to one of the smaller hotels on the Strip. It looked miniscule next to the towering splendor of its neighbors. As soon as she pulled into the hotel's lot, she saw yellow crime scene tape marking off a large area. A large crowd stood up against the barricade, clapping and cheering raucously. The reason for the stadium-like behavior became evident as she wandered toward the scene. A body hurtled through the air, landing with a thud against the pavement. A man in a black polo shirt with a camera slung around his neck stood watching the bodies fall.

Smiling, Sara waited until the experiment was completed before ducking under the crime scene tape. The man turned around and she realized it was Grissom. He waved to the crowd before snapping shots of each of the dummies. As she approached, she heard him commenting on each dummy, "Norman pushed. Norman jumped. Norman fell."

"Wouldn't you if you were married to Mrs. Roper?" she asked in a loud voice.

"I don't even have to turn around," Grissom said. "Welcome to Las Vegas, Sara." He did turn around then. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. "You were at the scene?"

"For just a minute. I didn't want to really poke around until the intros were over." Sara hesitated, but asked, "Where do you want me to start?"

"I'm letting you run with this. If you take orders from me, then there's a chance the Sheriff won't believe your findings." He stared through her, troubled. "This is big, Sara. I've got a terrific team, but this is tearing us apart. Anything you need, _anything_, you've got it. I left an ID and some paperwork for you at the front desk at the lab. Once you sign, you're official. I'll be your contact in the lab. Captain Jim Brass is your contact in the Sheriff's Department."

Sara nodded, making some notes on her pad. "Got it. Before I go, is the girl OK?"

"She's still in surgery," Grissom responded. "She isn't doing well."

The news was unwelcome. If this turned into a murder case…"That's too bad," Sara murmured.

Frustrated, Grissom looked at her. "God, Sara, I have so many unanswered whys."

"The only one why that matters now," the brunette interrupted. "Why did Warrick Brown leave that scene?"


	2. Chapter 2

The comment threw Grissom. His tired eyes bored into Sara. "I'm afraid the answer to that question may shatter my team."

"What do you know?" Crossing her arms over her stomach, Sara regarded her new boss closely. He turned away, staring down at the three faux men. "Grissom, you aren't exempted from the investigation. If you know something, you have to tell me. Otherwise, if this goes bad, you'll get swept along for the ride."

"I don't _know_ anything, Sara." Grissom fussed with his camera lense. "If I did, this whole thing would be over. You're here so I can give an unbiased report to the Sheriff."

Struggling to hide her growing irritation, Sara moved until she could look the older man in the eyes. "Damn it, Gil. I came out here to help out. I'm not some green investigator on their first case." She paled. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't think…"

Softly, Grissom replied, "I know, Sara. I do. But there are some things I need for you to find on your own. I'm in an awkward position right now. Last night, I was the lead CSI on graves. This morning, I'm the new Supervisor and one of my team may be responsible for the shooting of another." Blue eyes met and held brown. "Be thorough, Sara."

"I can do that." She hesitated, almost afraid to push too far. "Are you ready for what I might find?"

"How I feel doesn't matter. The truth matters." With a slight nod, he walked away.

"Right. OK. Thanks for that," she halfheartedly called after him. "What the hell does that mean?" Sara headed back to the Tahoe. She needed a little more information before tackling the graveyard team. It was time to get official. Once more, she drove down the Strip, fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel at the unending traffic. Finally, she left the congestion and entered a quieter, industrial strip, and parked outside the crime lab. Home sweet home for the next thirty days. Stopping at the front desk, Sara smiled at the blonde woman seated behind the tall counter.

"I'm Sara Sidle. Grissom said he left some paperwork for me."

"Right here," the woman replied tersely, handing over a bulky packet and a couple of laminated IDs.

Wondering if even the support personnel were picking sides, Sara smiled crookedly and tried again. "I'm looking for," she fumbled with her notebook, "Captain Jim Brass. Do you know where I can find him?"

Whatever was bothering the receptionist, she unbent enough to return the smile. "He's over at the Sheriff's Office, Ms. Sidle. Do you want me to call him for you?"

"That would be great. I've been in and out of the car all day." Sara took a deep breath. This was the hard part. "I'm going to need someplace to work. Someplace out of the way and quiet."

A knowing look crossed the other woman's face. "Sure. I understand, Ms. Sidle. There's an old conference room back behind the DNA lab. It's out of the way, and nobody really uses it anymore."

Sara nodded. "Is it all glass like the rest of this place?" She waved at the open, highly visible areas of the building.

"Oh, no. It's the room that time forgot, Ms. Sidle. Only one way in and solid walls. I think there's even a white board and a projector."

"OK. Just point me in the right direction and see if Captain Brass can meet me there." Things were looking up. The investigation didn't need a lot of prying eyes and ears. There were enough problems already looming. Getting directions, Sara gathered up the paperwork and her bag and headed off down the long, twisting hallways.

Catherine stormed out of the room. She was furious. How could Gil bring in an outsider? Didn't he trust them to do their jobs and find Holly's killer? Grabbing her purse and some supplies for her kit, she hit the road. It was time to get started tracking Holly's killer. The drive out to the crime scene was long enough for her to cool down. By the time she climbed out of the SUV, she was ready for work.

The scene looked brand new – from the outside. Two squad cars with lights flashing blocked the entrance and three deputies milled by the door. "Little late for the brigade, fellas," she muttered on the way in. The interior was dark. Heavy shades covered the windows, and dust motes floated in the shafts of light streaming in from the open door.

Setting her heavy case down just inside the door, Catherine stopped. She needed to get a good mental image of what had happened, but her only image of Holly was during their aborted breakfast. Scowling, Catherine opened her case and began processing the scene. Work was slow. Holly had scattered fingerprint powder liberally on every surface. Re-printing the room took time. An hour passed before she was satisfied all the surfaces had been covered. Stretching her aching back, Catherine stood up, surveying the room with an experienced eye.

Now, she could see Holly, bent over, working on the bedside table…turning at a sound by the door. She would have confronted the intruder, identified herself. Catherine jumped at the sound of the imaginary shots and Holly's body hitting the ground.

Shaking off the terrible scene, she concentrated on processing the evidence. A nine millimeter handgun lay on the floor, empty shell casings nearby. Crouching, she picked up the gun, sniffing it. The lingering odor of gunpowder wafted up. Definitely fired recently. Catherine examined the gun itself. New. No scratches or imperfections. Immaculately oiled. She closed her eyes. This was the weapon of a young woman fresh from the Academy with a mother who'd walked a beat. "This is Holly's gun," she announced to the empty room.

Ejecting the clip and counting the rounds told her Holly had fired back. She'd have to find where they impacted. Maybe they were looking for an injured suspect. As she went to stand, a shrill beeping sound filled the room. Dropping to her hands and knees, Catherine scanned the floor. A beeper lay just under the bed. Trying to contain her excitement, Catherine scooped it up in gloved hands, peering at the display, but it was hard to read in the dim lighting. Time to wrap up for now and process the new evidence.

This time, the drive to the lab seemed endless. The pager sounded every few minutes, reminding her that maybe they _would_ find Holly's shooter. She scrambled from the Tahoe after ripping recklessly into the lot, pulling evidence bags out and hurrying inside.

The receptionist called her name, but Catherine waved her off. There was a compulsion driving her. The pager. In the harsh light of the Vegas afternoon, she'd noted the low battery display. She needed a pager nest. For once, Grissom's meticulous reading of scientific journals worked in her favor. Tearing down the hall, she found the tiny corner lab and set up the expensive equipment. Placing the pager in the unit, she sighed. All the hurrying and adrenaline…all she could do now was wait. The pager needed time to charge before the nest could strip the in-coming numbers from its memory.

Coffee sounded divine.

"Sara Sidle?" The deep voice from the door brought Sara's head up from the reports she'd been reading. One of the dayshift investigators had begun analyzing the evidence Holly Gribbs had collected before being shot.

Blinking tiredly, Sara stared at the balding man in the rumpled suit. "Captain Brass?"

He nodded and stepped into the room, closing the door. "Got a call you wanted to talk. You got something already?"

"I wish." Sara shook her head. "I'm looking for information. Have you started looking into Warrick Brown yet?"

"Looking how?" He avoided her eyes, dropping into a chair opposite her.

Slamming the report onto the table, Sara glared at the officer. "You, too? Is everyone going to get in the way of this investigation?" She moved around the table. "Warrick Brown left a rookie CSI at a scene. No one knows where he went. While he was missing, that rookie gets shot. She's in critical condition, and you're telling me you aren't looking into _why _she was alone."

"Ms. Sidle-"

"Cut the crap, Captain.

Looking at his hands on the table, Jim Brass slumped in his chair. "You're right. I've done enough damage already." He met her eyes. "What do you need?"

"Radio records. I want to know when he checked in and out with Dispatch. Anything in his jacket that might be useful." Sara frowned. "Cell phone records, too. Did he leave to meet someone?"

"Some of that will take a while. I'll need warrants." Brass frowned.

Sara shook her head. "No warrants. Get permission from Brown. If you follow channels, he'll lose the job no matter what we find. He knows we're investigating. If he says no, then we do the warrants."

"OK. I'll give Warrick a call and work on the information you need." He stood. "Where can I find you when things start rolling?"

Sara leaned against the table. "Welcome to my new, and very temporary, office. I'm going to start interviewing the other graveyard investigators. Maybe head to the scene. Grissom's got me all set up, so you can have Dispatch radio me, too."

Brass nodded. "Got it. You watch yourself out there. The team is going to be less than happy with you poking around. I used to run that shift. They can be barracudas."

With a semi-wave, the detective wandered off, and Sara decided to get started on the less appealing part of her new job. Interviews. First on the list, Catherine Willows. Grabbing her notepad, she went in search of the most experienced investigator on the team.

It would have been easier to ask the front desk to locate her, but Sara wanted to get a feel for the lab and its employees. The white-coated men and women hurrying through the halls and sitting in front of equipment were obviously technicians. Where were the actual investigators? She was just about to ask the spikey-haired kid spinning in a desk chair, when loud voices caught her attention. Curiously, she followed the sound.

A couple stood just outside the break room, well into each other's personal space.

"No sex is worth you." Sara's eyebrows rose as the woman verbally bashed her companion.

He, however, took it in stride. Smirking, he leaned in closer until the blonde woman continued. "You are not taking our daughter to a club with one of your music whores."

Sara crept forward. The scene looked ready for an explosion.

Angry now, the man retorted "Oh, they're whores? When I met you, you were taking your clothes off in a strip club."

Heads were popping out of offices and labs now. Time to break up the happy couple. Pasting a smile on her face, Sara hurried to break up the developing fight. "Hey, um, I was wondering if you could help me out?"

Two pairs of very angry eyes looked at her.

Clearing her throat, Sara kept smiling. "I'm looking for Catherine Willows. Do you know where I can find her?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sara noted the man's eyes slide to his companion at her question. The blonde, however, tossed off, "She's out in the field, I think," and stepped into the break room.

Smile only slightly less exuberant, Sara called after her. "You don't happen to know exactly where? I mean, I just joined the team and Grissom said I should talk to her." The man was getting restless, and Sara's stomach clenched. His eyes…Pupils dilated, lids rimmed with red. Coughing slightly and pretending to sniffle, Sara checked the air. Not alcohol. Arms crossed against the chill of the overworked air conditioner, Sara rocked on her heels.

Finally, the blonde returned to the hallway, coffee now clutched in her right hand. "Still here?" she sniped, and Sara wasn't entirely sure to whom the question was addressed.

Deciding to take the gloves off, Sara answered the question. "See, this is awkward, but I'm an investigator from San Francisco, and I' pretty sure _you're_ Catherine. Now, I hate to interrupt your cozy little chat, but I'm on a deadline. So let's stop playing games and get down to business."

Once again, she was the center of attention as the couple glared at her.

Refusing to back down, she locked eyes with the blonde. "I'm all set up in the old conference room. We can talk there, or…?" Sara let the statement fade away.

"I'm processing evidence from the scene. If we have to do this now," Sara winced at the bite in the smooth voice, "that's where we talk." Catherine took a sip of her coffee and faced the man. "Eddie, go home. Get some sleep; take a shower. Hell, do whatever, but stay away from Lindsey until you get rid of the girl. Then we can discuss what happened tonight."

Sara tensed. What the hell? Eddie was strung out and already primed for a fight.

"I'm not through with you!" he shouted, long arm snaking after Catherine.

With his attention focused solely on the other investigator, Eddie didn't realize Sara was a threat. Moving quickly, she stepped directly into him, shoulder lowered, and drove him back against the glass wall. "You _are_ through. Leave, _right now_, or I have a Deputy take you down to detox until you're clean."

Cold blue eyes raked over her as Eddie shoved her away, stood up, and stalked off.

Silence descended. Clearing her throat, Sara ignored the drama that had just played out. She had a job to do. "You said something about evidence. What did you find?"

For a brief period, Catherine appeared to consider ignoring the question, but Sara glared at her, not giving up. Striding toward the small lab, Catherine answered, "A pager."

Quick footfalls sounded on the polished floor as Sara hurried to catch up. "You checked the numbers? That usually takes a while unless you have a pager nest."

A slight smile gave it away.

Grinning at Catherine, Sara said disbelievingly, "You've _got _a nest?"

"Grissom won it on E-bay." They entered the small lab and Catherine dropped into the desk chair. With Sara reading over her shoulder, she typed a few commands into the computer linked to the equipment.

Squinting at the screen, Sara tried to read the information flashing there. "These things are great, if you can rely on the suspect's honesty." Names and numbers lined up on the computer and Sara bit back a laugh.

"Desmond Tutu." Catherine shook her head.

"Don't feel bad," Sara tried to console the frustrated older woman. "My last four traces came back Eminem."

Catherine laughed reluctantly, sweeping her hair back from her face and spinning in the chair to face Sara. The mood in the room shifted. "I know you're not here to drool over the lab equipment."

"No. I'm not." Sara leaned against a long counter, and meet Catherine's blue eyes.

"Then stop trying to be my new best buddy. Ask your questions and leave." Antagonism flared. "This is my case. I don't care what Grissom told you, but you are not stealing it."

Without thinking, Sara snapped back, "Haven't you had enough aggression for one night? Power down and think, Catherine. I'm not here to solve the Holly Gribbs case. I'm here to keep IA out of the investigations and determine whether Warrick Brown should be charged."

The air sizzled between them until Catherine waved a tired hand. "What do you want to know?"

"According to the information Grissom sent me, you formed a bond with Holly." Sara noted the other woman pale. "Did she talk about her training? How her night was going?"

Breakfast with Holly replaying in her mind, Catherine bitterly replied, "What? Are you writing a personal interest piece for the paper?" Damn it, this was hard enough. Didn't Sara know the right questions? She might be willing to cooperate, but she wasn't going to do the younger woman's job for her.

"Noooo," Sara drawled. "I'm trying to find out if you, an experienced CSI, thought she was prepared for the job. It was her first night. Circumstances aside, was she capable of processing the scene without help?"

Crunch time. Catherine watched the numbers on the computer flicker a few times before answering honestly. "It was a simple robbery. Lots of printing, maybe some fiber collection. Holly could do that."

"Fair enough. She could do that. Would _you_ have left her there alone?"

"She wasn't alone. There was an officer at the scene."

_One step forward and two back_, Sara thought. Pushing harder, she tried again. "I'm waiting on radio records, so I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty certain that the deputy left. Warrick Brown left. I really want to know: would _you_ have left her?"

Head bowed, Catherine shook her head and then let slip, "It seemed to be a habit, leaving Holly." She froze, hoping Sara had missed her quiet mutter.

No such luck.

"Excuse me?" The relaxed pose disappeared. Pushing away from the counter, Sara stalked over to stand at Catherine's shoulder.

She'd said too much. "Holly was left at a scene earlier in the evening as well. Another robbery at a convenience store."

"Warrick Brown?"

"No." A wry smiled twitched Catherine's lips. "Grissom."

Ignoring, but mentally filing that information, Sara pressed on. "Did Holly process that scene?"

"Yes."

Resisting the urge to scream, Sara gritted out, "Was the process good?"

"Yes and no." When Sara slid a little closer, Catherine relented. "The evidence she pulled from the scene was fine, but she didn't have a chance to finish up." An arched eyebrow and tightly crossed arms elicited more. "The owner pulled a gun. She called Dispatch, and I rescued her."

"All begging the question: why the hell did she stay? With that kind of night, _I_ would have gone home and never come back." Sara sighed and stepped away. "I think you've more than got this under control." Rubbing the back of her neck, she went back to work. "Where can I find Warrick Brown?"

Catherine's eyes shuttered. "If I were searching, I'd start with the casinos on Blue Diamond Road."

Sara considered leaving it at that, but she didn't have time to waste. "This is a gambling town. Now, I'm not much for betting, but if I _were_ I'd lay odds on there being dozens of casinos on Blue Diamond. Which one?"

No answer.

"Which one, Catherine?" Sara snapped, patience a thing of the past.

Chin dipping just slightly, Catherine caved. "The Silverton."

A genuine smile leaked out. "Thank you." Tucking her notebook into her sweater, Sara motored from the room. She needed to grab her bag and check in with Dispatch before heading out again.

Amused despite herself, Catherine smiled when Sara rushed from the room. Grissom's blood hound was hot on the trail. Pulling her scattered thoughts together, she glared at the useless pager and stood up. Other evidence waited for processing. Maybe one of the many bags or prints would turn up something useful.

Like a grim apparition of Santa Claus, she delivered the various items she'd collected to the proper labs and technicians until only one remained. Holly's gun. The ballistics lab tech smiled cheerfully when she slipped into the room. "Hey, Cath. Don't see you much this time of day. What can I do for you?" Bobby's pleasant drawl drew a smile.

"Hi, Bobby. Got something of a rush job."

He sobered. "The Gribbs case?" When she nodded, he whistled. "It might make the boss unhappy, but you got it. Nothing's more important than that right now. What do you have for me?"

"Standard police issue nine millimeter." Catherine held up the evidence bag. "And, if you don't mind walking me through, I'd like to do the test fire." Grimacing a little, she explained, "This one's personal."

"Sure, Cath." Bobby stood and waved her toward the back of the lab. He took the weapon from the evidence bag. Noticing the missing clip, he detoured and came back. "OK, now Holly's gun is fully loaded and ready to go. Grab some protection." He nodded at the padded earphones and glasses hanging on a clip.

Catherine put on some glasses and pulled a pair earphones around her neck, waiting for the rest.

"OK. Simple really. Point the gun in the entry hole there to do your test firing." He handed her the weapon, barrel pointed to the ground and walked with her to the unit.

Mumbling a brief thanks, Catherine wiggled the heavy weapon in her hand. Despite being range qualified and carrying a gun in the field, Holly's felt unwieldy in her grasp. She dragged the ear protection on with her other hand and took a deep breath before placing the muzzle into the metal entry hole. Closing her eyes briefly, she gazed down at her wrist and fired one shot.

She withdrew the weapon, noting her shaking hand, and gave the gun back to Bobby. "Now what?" They both ignored choked quality of her voice.

"Now, we do this." Pulling back a hatch, he reached inside the unit with a long set of tongs, retrieving the bullet. "We take this baby and get a closer look." He strode into the outer lab while Catherine divested herself of the safety equipment

By the time she rejoined Bobby, he was perched on a stool, peering into a microscope. "OK, now in order to eliminate Holly's gun as the possible weapon," he said around his ever present chewing gum, "we start by looking for imperfections in the bullet striations." Bobby fell silent for a few minutes, and Catherine watched him manipulate the equipment, frowning.

"Bobby?" A cold know formed in her stomach.

"Well, it's just…this is odd," he finally stated. Wheeling back from the microscope, he waved Catherine forward. "Tell me what you see."

Almost afraid of the evidence, she peered into the lenses. The copper pieces under her eyes fit together like two parts of a whole. Stomach churning, Catherine whispered, "The perp shot her with her own gun."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4/?  
Disclaimer: None of these sexy characters belong to me. I'm just having a bit of fun with them.  
Spoilers: Pretty much everything :)  
Feedback: I live for it…  
Archiving: Just ask first  
A/N: A very special thanks to Zigpal, Ivy, and Malea for the beta. Thanks, guys!

Catherine stared at Bobby in horror. "I…I'll let you take care of the report," she said faintly, shuffling toward the door. Out in the hallway, she leaned numbly against the wall until the nausea faded. Swiping shaking hands on her pant legs, Catherine made her way down the corridor. People came and went around her, but she couldn't focus on any of them.

"Ms. Willows?"

Catherine spun around, heart pounding. "What?" she choked out.

The receptionist gave her a strained smile. "Captain Brass left some information for Ms. Sidle, but she just checked out. Aren't you working the Gribbs case?"

"Yeah." Catherine eyed the other woman. "What did he leave?" she wandered over and leaned against the tall counter. "I mean, I could take it back to the lab and leave it for her," she offered with a forced smile.

Apparently, she didn't do a very good job disguising her interest. A blonde eyebrow arched, and Judy gave her a knowing look. "Phone records. From a certain CSI's cell phone."

Hesitating for only a second, Catherine held out her hand. "You know, I'm going right passed that lab. How about I take those off your hands, Judy?" Face expressionless, she took the large stack of fanfolded printouts and stuck them under her arm. Meeting Judy's eyes, Catherine murmured, "If Ms. Sidle comes back, give me a call on my cell. Just in case I'm…busy, "she stressed delicately, "I don't want to miss her."

"Sure. Just in case…"

Spinning on her heel, reenergized, Catherine hustled back to the small lab where she'd stashed her evidence. The pager still sat uselessly in the nest, and she shoved the equipment out of the way, dropping the phone records onto the now empty space. The numbers listed all seemed legitimate. Most of them belonged to the team; a few judges and cops; some casinos. Catherine frowned. Sara had seemed certain there was something here, and, if she were honest with herself, so had she. Grabbing a pen from her kit, she started at the top.

The trick to using phone records was putting the calls together with the timeline. All the crime scene information was neatly catalogued in the report. Catherine flicked through it, scribbling notes next to numbers, marking the timeline. When she finished, Catherine dropped the pen to the table and glared at the information. It didn't make sense. Warrick had gotten only ten calls during the time Holly had been on the team. Grissom and Brass accounted for half of those.

Standing and pacing around the small room, Catherine tried to fit the timelines together, talking to herself."Warrick and Holly radioed Dispatch at 6:17. Warrick left, and Holly was shot around 7:30. No phone calls either right before or after their arrival. Nothing until Grissom called at 7:00." Catherine ran a hand through her hair. If Warrick hadn't left the scene in response to a call, where had he gone? He claimed he'd been on a coffee run, and then Grissom had called. But…that left almost 40 minutes unaccounted for. Catherine flushed. She was beginning to treat Warrick like a suspect. Timelines, phone records. What was she doing? Why was she helping Sara pin this on her teammate?

Scowling, Catherine admitted to herself that Warrick's behavior left questions. She dropped into the chair again, idly scanning the paperwork. A number on the printout jumped at her. Judge Cohen . There hadn't been a need for a warrant at the robbery site. Wait. That call came after Holly's shooting. Another case? No. Warrick had already been placed on administrative leave by then.

Opening her cell phone, Catherine pressed a speed dial number and waited.

"Brass."

"Hey, Jim. It's Catherine. I – ah, I have the printout you left for Sara, and I need some information." She held her breath, waiting for the explosion.

It never came. The voice on the phone was flat, tired. "I thought you were totally against investigating 'Rick?"

"I'm waiting for some evidence to get processed, and intercepted the phone records." Catherine bit her lip. "Jim, there's just too many unanswered questions, and Warrick was acting weird after the shooting." She cleared her throat. "If this goes bad, better us than IA or Grissom's pet investigator."

"Cath, anything we find could compromise Sara's investigation," Brass bit off the words, frustration clear. "Do you want to end up under investigation, too?"

"No."

Brass sighed. "Cath, let it go, OK? Let the new girl do all the digging and take the heat."

Reluctant amusement made Catherine smile. "I hate it when you're right."

"We're good then?"

"We're good, but I still have a question. Strictly between us, Jim," she hurried to reassure him. "One of the calls Warrick got was from Judge Cohen, but there was no warrant issued on the robbery. Was he working with you guys on something else?"

Silence.

"Jim?" She was onto something. "I know you're there, Jim."

"Catherine, let it go." Jim was close to begging.

"Hell, no. Not now." Excitement edged her voice. "Tell me."

"Warrick got him to sign a blank warrant for the Toenail Case. I'm not saying anymore." His voice was firm, final, but Catherine pushed anyway.

"_Warrick_ got him to sign the warrant? Why didn't you? Damn it, Jim!" Catherine sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down. "What the hell is going on?"

"Cath, you know what I know. The rest is up to Sara to find." Brass coughed. "I've already lost too much on this one. No more. We're done here."

The line went dead, and Catherine closed her cell phone. She'd told Jim he was right about not butting into this case, but now her curiosity demanded answers. Catherine stood and started for the door. She needed the Toenail Case file.

Thanking the stars and anything else she could think of that the Silverton didn't require another drive down the Strip, Sara pulled into the parking lot. Time to confront Warrick Brown about his sudden disappearance. She radioed Dispatch and shoved her radio and ID into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she hiked to the glass doors. The interior was dim after the blinding sun, and Sara quickly ripped off her sunglasses. Idly twirling them in her hands, she scanned the casino. There had been no photo of Brown in the reports, but it was a safe bet that he wasn't part of the dungareed, over-sixties crowd zealously working the slot machines.

There weren't many other options. A handful of women littered the tables. Finally, Sara focused her attention on a man lounging alone at a blackjack table. Choosing a table with care, Sara leaned back in the folding chair and signaled one of the milling waitresses. She needed to get a feel for the coming interview, and it had been a long time since she'd eaten. Notebook, pencil, and Grissom's report in front of her, Sara ordered and quietly watched Warrick Brown.

He seemed almost asleep at the table. Small movements of head and hand signaled his moves with the cards covering the green baize. Sara frowned. Calculating quickly, she noted Brown had nearly eight thousand dollars in chips in front of him, and he was covering each spot at the table, too. Despite the indolent air he gave off, Sara suspected he was playing with a purpose. This was no simple attempt to while away his suddenly free hours or soothe a guilty conscience. Warrick Brown needed money. As she ate her salad, Sara kept up her surveillance. The pile of chips in front of the other CSI continued to grow, and Brown didn't look interested in leaving the table.

The buzzing on her cell phone interrupted dinner. "Sidle," she mumbled around a mouthful.

"Sara, it's Grissom." His voice sounded unbelievably weary. "You're now heading up a murder investigation. Holly didn't make it out of surgery."

Swallowing the now tasteless lettuce, Sara sat forward in her chair. "Just the Brown investigation or the actual murder investigation, too?"

"All of it, Sara. I can't…" he broke off, and voices sounded dimly in the background. "I need to go. Do whatever you need to. I'll make it fly with the Sheriff."

She stared at the table, stomach churning. A murder investigation. With an antagonistic crew and a brand new city. Letting out a slow breath, Sara stood up. Time to ask Mr. Brown a few very pointed questions. Stalking across the casino, she tried to calm down. This was far too important to ruin by losing control of the situation. Sara stopped just behind Brown's left shoulder.

The dealer's eyes flickered up then back down to the table. "You're up eleven G's," he announced. "Hit or stay?"

"Stay," Sara answered, and then almost flinched at the laser-like look she received, "Cash in. I want to talk to you"

There was no response, but a dark-skinned hand turned over the cards, signaling his removal from the game. Sara stepped back, letting Brown clean up the chips scattered around him. "Where to, then?" The deep voice flowed over her.

"Got a nice spot in the corner." Sara pointed to the remains of her meal. "I'll wait for you there." The words were edged with a threat.

Amusement tilted his lips for a second. "You think you could catch me if I ran? Whatever. Gimme a minute." He strode off.

Sara returned to the table, watching the tall form at the window, noticing the size of the payout. Brown was up eleven thousand, but he pocketed more than that. She jotted a note to check his financials when they got back to the lab. Turning to a fresh page, she absently doodled until her companion sat down across from her, leaning over the table.

"I figure you already know who I am, but just so there's no confusion, I'm Sara Sidle, and I'm taking a look at the Holly Gribbs shooting." Sara didn't yet divulge the news of Holly's death. "Specifically, I'm here to decide if you should be charged for leaving her alone at the scene."

If she'd hoped to rattle Brown, Sara was disappointed. He regarded her with the same expressionless mask he'd worn at the blackjack table.

Changing tactics, she leaned back and let her eyes scan the casino. "You were playing a hundred on every spot. You have a system?" Sara played on her "new to Las Vegas" image.

"I'm counting cards," Brown shrugged.

"Isn't that illegal?" She fiddled with her pen, not wanting to push too fast.

Brown again proved too sure of himself. All she got was a quiet, "Not if you do the math in your head."

The air conditioning wasn't enough. Sara resisted the urge to wipe at the sweat beading her hairline. She had to break that reserve. She needed answers. "You count cards; I counted over fifteen thousand in chips at that table. This isn't just a pleasure trip, Mr. Brown. You need money. Why?"

He tensed, but managed to brush off the question. "It was a good day. Somedays I lose just as much. This _is_ Vegas. I'm playing with pocket change."

"I don't think so." Sara met his eyes, daring him to lie or evade the next set of questions. "Captain Brass called you about your phone records. They're back at the office," she bluffed. "What am I going to find there? Who did you talk to before you left Holly at that scene?"

"No one."

Sara bit back a grin of triumph. The comment was terse, not smooth. He was lying. "I think I'm going to see the number for a bookie." No reaction. It was something else. Pulling in her scattered knowledge of Vegas' betting world, Sara stabbed into the dark. "So, if you weren't calling in your own bet, were you placing one for a friend? Are you a runner, Mr. Brown?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: There have been some changes to the Beta Crew since Chapter One. Many thanks to the Fab Four: Zigpal, Flazeron, Ivy, and Malea. And a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to read and review. It makes all the effort worthwhile.

Silence met her question. Cool green eyes stared over her head. "Answer the question, Mr. Brown."

"I've placed a few bets for friends once or twice." Brown stretched his legs out beneath the table and dropped his gaze to his hands.

This was it. Make or break time. Leaning forward, voice intent, Sara started from the beginning. "Let me get this straight. You were assigned by Captain Brass to shadow Holly Gribbs. A robbery comes up on MLK, and you go for coffee?" Despite her best intentions, sarcasm edged the last words.

Brown's hands curled into fists at the table. "An officer was there. I thought it was safe to leave."

"Safe because you needed a caffeine fix?" Sara rolled her pen in her fingers. "Or because you needed to go place a bet?" Damn. She'd pushed too hard. He tensed, his expression closing. Backpedaling, Sara went off on a tangent. "Do you know the policies and procedures for clearing a scene?"

"Yeah, I do." Brown was getting angry.

"Then tell me the truth. What was so important you headed out of there? Why did you really leave Holly at the scene?" Sara didn't back down, but her voice softened until she was almost pleading.

Running a hand over the stubble on his face, he replied roughly, "I told you, I went for coffee."

Sara gave up on the soft and gentle approach. Throwing her notebook onto the table, she snapped, "Was that before or after you placed your bet?" She caught and held his eyes. "I may be new to Vegas, but I understand how it works. It's Sunday. That means NFL football. A guy like you…you're a professional whether you admit it or not. You trying to tell me you didn't make a little pit stop?"

His eyes slid to the side.

"Look at me!"

Brown jumped at the order, reluctantly raising his eyes to hers.

"You're in a lot of trouble. Stop lying and answer the damned question. Did you stop to make a bet?" Sara held her breath, waiting.

"So what if I did?" Brown avoided a direct response. "Do you know how many times I got left at a scene when I was a rookie?"

"Well, this time is a little different." Sara shook her head at his attempts to shift the blame, and hit him with the news. "Holly Gribbs died on the operating table twenty minutes ago."

He jumped from his seat, and Sara had to run to catch him. Gripping his arm, she fought to keep him from continuing out of the casino. "Get the fuck away from me," Brown ground out.

They were drawing attention. Sara could feel the eyes on them. "Sit down at the table and give me the details; unless you'd prefer to have this conversation in an interview room. You're giving me the answers I need right now, Mr. Brown, or I have Captain Brass arrest you." She kept her voice low, and her expression pleasant. No one was really close enough to hear their conversation. To the prying eyes, they might just be a couple having a little spat. "Your call. Here or the Sheriff's ofice."

Shaking off her hand, he dropped his head. "The Sheriff's office."

That was a surprise. Sara stepped back. "Fine. Let me grab my things, and…"

"Take your time. I'll be there waiting on you." He spun and stalked out the door.

Dashing to the table and dumping her supplies in her bag, Sara hurried after the other CSI. The sun stabbed at her eyes as she scanned the parking lot. "Fuck!" He was gone. Her stomach twisted. She'd just lost her suspect. She fumbled in her bag, dragging out sunglasses and radio. The glasses helped with the vicious light. Bracing herself, she keyed the radio. "P44, Disptach."

Not even stopping to consider her actions, Catherine let herself into Grissom's cluttered office. Files cascaded out of the wooden tray on the desk. She quickly rifled through them, looking for the recent murder case he and Warrick had been handling. Excitement coiled deep inside when she found it. Catherine dropped into Grissom's chair and began reading.

Fifteen minutes later, she tossed the folder back onto the desk in confusion. Nothing. Judge Cohen had signed a warrant, but it had never been executed. A second warrant had been, right before Holly's shooting. What was the connection? Steepling her hands, Catherine leaned back and ran through the events in both cases again, looking for a connection.

Her cell phone jarred her out of her thoughts. "Willows."

"Cath, it's Gil." He sounded drained. "Holly's dead."

"Damn." Shaking hand pressed to her mouth, Catherine struggled to listen to the rest.

Voice occasionally overshadowed by the hospital loudspeakers, Grissom went on. "I put Sara in charge of the Gribbs investigation." His voice hardened. "Don't get in her way, Cath. It's too important to close ranks right now. Let her do her job."

"Gil." She had to interrupt. Maybe he could connect the dots for her. "The Toenail Case you and Warrick were working. What does Judge Cohen have to do with it?"

Grissom sighed, and Catherine frowned. If he wouldn't help out…"Warrick went to him for a warrant after Brass told him we didn't have enough evidence."

"Why didn't you use the warrant?" Catherine rubbed her forehead, where a splitting headache blossomed. "It would have saved you at least a day on the arrest." Then she caught herself. "Never mind. Look, Sara got Warrick's cell phone records and the judge called him after the suspension. Brass won't talk about it. What's going on, Gil?"

"Talk to Sara, Cath." Refusal was clear in his voice.

Gripping the phone tighter, Catherine barked out, "Oh, no you don't. Cut the crap, Gil. What the hell is going on?"

"Talk to Sara." The connection cut off, and Catherine banged her hand on the desk.

"Talk to Sara," she mimicked in a high pitched, irritated voice. "Damn you and your inability to answer questions." She spent a few more pointless minutes searching the case file before giving up. Leaving it perched on the top of the pile, she left Grissom's office. Maybe more coffee would help.

The break room was cluttered. Stale coffee, a profusion of Styrofoam cups, and food trash covered the usually clean surfaces. Too many people working double shifts. Pouring some of the day-old coffee into a cup, Catherine headed back to her quiet lab. Leaning against the counter sipping her coffee, she eyed the photos and phone records spread out on the table. There was something in those, but without Grissom or Brass, it didn't make sense. She was going to have to follow Grissom's advice and call Sara.

Setting the cup down, she pushed away from the counter and frowned. A light flashed on the pager she'd brought in earlier. Rushing over, she barely remembered to don a fresh latex glove before plucking the pager from the nest. A number appeared on the tiny screen and Catherine let out a triumphant "Yes!," before pulling her cell phone off her belt. It wasn't procedure, exactly, but…she quickly dialed the number and waited.

"Hello?" A deep voice answered.

Eyes wide and mind racing, Catherine mumbled, "Uh, hey."

"Yeah, who's this?" the man asked. "I just dialed my own damn beeper."

"Uh uh," Catherine was quick to disagree. "I found this beeper. It's mine now." She let a hint of drawl creep into her voice, letting it slide up an octave to sound younger.

"Look," the voice snapped impatiently, "I use that beeper for my business."

"What kind of business?" Catherine asked, already figuring it was more than likely drugs.

A rumble of laughter came from the phone. "You know, just slinging a little somethin'-somethin.'"

"Well, now. Maybe you can trade some of that for this here beeper," Catherine offered. "I mean, I can get a beeper any old where. But what you've got, now that's a little harder." _Come on. Come on, _she begged silently. _Take the bait_.

"Whatchu looking for?" He'd gotten suspicious. His voice was tight, hesitant.

She had to get him back on the hook. "Look, sugar, if you ain't interested in this beeper, you just say so. I can always look somewhere else for a score." Catherine bit her lip. Sara and Brass would kill her if she lost this chance.

"No. I got you covered, little girl. I'm at the Three Aces Motel, room 202." He was back to business now, voice oozing charm.

"Well alright. Three Aces Motel, room 202," Catherine repeated, grabbing a pen and scribbling the information on the phone records. "I'll see you soon, sugar."

She ended the call with shaking hands. Time to call in the big guns.

Catherine stood behind several flak jacketed deputies, watching the last of the civilians run for safety. Just as they started to move up the stairs, Brass jogged by, gun in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Catherine asked sharply.

Lips lifting in a small smile, he replied, "Sheriff thinks I'm good enough to handle this one. After all, it's just one unsuspecting guy and there's plenty of backup." Brass continued up the stairs, gun pointing at the ground. Deputies trailed in his wake and more met him outside the door of room 202. Back pressed to the wall, Brass kicked at the door. "Las Vegas Police. Open up," he called.

The door remained closed, and a couple of deputies with a battering ram stepped forward. Brass flicked his hand and they swung the heavy ram into the door, breaking through the dead bolt.

Officers swarmed in as Catherine nervously waited outside. Shouts and thuds resounded before Brass stuck his head out the door. "All clear, Cath."

She stepped quickly inside. Officers had a nearly naked suspect handcuffed and face down on the bed. "Nice. Leopard print briefs. I can't believe I made a date with a man with taste bad enough for those."

The suspect peered up at her, face scratched and swollen around the eyes. "That was you on the phone?" he mumbled disbelievingly.

Catherine nodded with a slight smile. The deputies yanked him upright, and Catherine asked quietly, "Where'd you get those scratches?"

"Fuck off." He glared at her, straining to break free.

"Jim, in order for a conviction, we're going to need a DNA sample." Catherine gestured at the festering cuts.

"Saliva sample good enough?" Brass raised his eyebrows. At her nod, he told the deputies, "Sit him down, then."

"Dispatch, P44. Go ahead."

"CSI Brown is on his way back to the Sheriff's office. I need to be notified the second he arrives." Sara gripped the handset tightly. She should be calling for a BOLO but held off. She'd give him a chance to turn himself in.

"Roger that. Ms. Sidle, you've also got a message from CSI Willows." The voice paused, then continued, "You need to head to the Three Aces Motel. There's a 10-15 on the Gribbs case."


	6. Chapter 6

Excitement warred with the anxiety of losing Brown. They had a suspect in the Gribbs shooting. Sara wheeled into the parking lot of the Three Aces Motel, easily spotting Catherine in the sea of brown uniforms. Radioing her location to Dispatch, she hopped out of the SUV and trotted over to the other CSI.

"Catherine?" Her voice was carefully level. Sara didn't want to be suddenly disappointed if this didn't pan out.

The blinding smile that greeted her, however, put paid to that fear. "We got him." Catherine stretched, looking tired beneath the jubilation.

"We got the suspect," Sara cautioned. "Do we have enough evidence to tie him to the scene?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "The Sheriff's going to want a slam dunk on this one."

Coming down a little at Sara's tone, Catherine leaned against a cruiser. "It's the suspect's pager I found at the scene." She ran a hand through her hair, biting back a yawn. Now that the case was coming to a close, it was hard to forget she'd been on the clock nearly eighteen hours. "He's got scratches on his face, probably from Holly. We took a DNA sample. A trip to the morgue –" she broke off, eyes closed in sudden horror at that thought. She'd have to process Holly for more evidence.

"You want me to take a look?" Sara offered quietly. She wanted to help. Catherine looked at the end of her rope, and the brunette knew it was going to be difficult to treat a former colleague like any other victim.

Catherine let out a slow breath. "Maybe," she hedged, voice rough. It rankled, letting an outsider process Holly's body. Still, this might work in her favor. They needed to talk about the case and Warrick. "How about you drive us to the morgue? I came with a deputy and need a ride."

Tilting her head, Sara examined the other woman closely. Fine lines bracketed Catherine's mouth and bruises marred the skin under her eyes. "Sure." She spun on her heels, wondering just what the coming trip would bring. Catherine had a reason for requesting her company, Sara was sure of it. And she didn't think it had anything to do with the blonde needing help gathering evidence.

They climbed into the Tahoe in silence, Catherine watching as Sara once again started up the large vehicle and merged with the constant Vegas traffic. She waited until the younger woman completed her radio call to Dispatch before beginning to probe. "Did you find Warrick?"

"Yeah. Just like you said, he was at the Silverton." Sara flicked a glance at Catherine. "He looked a little rough," she added, voice carefully casual. Maybe Catherine would help fill in some of the gaps.

"Wouldn't you?" Catherine laughed disbelievingly. "He'd just been suspended, told he might be responsible for Holly getting shot. Would you go home, take a shower, and climb into bed?"

Sara nodded tightly. "No. I wouldn't be in a casino counting cards and stacking over eight thousand dollars worth of chips on the table, either." She took a deep breath, noticing her fingers were clenched so tightly around the wheel her knuckles were white. "Look, he as much as admitted to being a runner when I talked to him, but he ran out before I could get anything else."

"Oh, 'Rick," Catherine muttered. Her shoulders slumped. It all added up now. The judge, the blank warrant on no evidence, Warrick leaving the scene. Feeling sick, Catherine confronted her only choice. "I know who it was," she choked out.

"You what?" Sara was so surprised, she jerked the wheel to the right. Horns blared all around them, unhappy with the sudden lane change. "Fuck." Hands shaking from the near miss and the unveiled information, Sara refocused on the road. "Who is it, and how do you know? Is there proof?" She struggled not to shout the questions, as it hit home again just how bad things could get if Brown wasn't headed for the Sheriff's office.

Raising an eyebrow at a rattled Sara, Catherine started her explanation. "I went through the cell phone records Brass pulled for you." She bared her teeth in a fake smile when Sara looked her way. "You want to get into an argument over stealing your case, or should I let you in on what I found?"

Flushing at the chiding tone, Sara gritted out, "What did you find?"

"A lot of nothing, at first." Catherine rubbed her eyes. She didn't want to turn on Warrick. There had to be a reason for everything, but the young woman next to her wasn't going to look beyond the surface unless she could convince her. "I started a time line with the calls. The only unexplained one came from Judge Cohen."

"Wait," Sara interrupted, confused. "CSIs take calls from judges all the time. Evidence, court dates, warrants."

Catherine tapped her fingers on the dash. "Exactly. I double checked with Brass. Judge Cohen issued a warrant on another case Warrick was working." She bit her lip then forged ahead. "There were some irregularities with the warrant. If you think 'Rick's running, maybe Cohen was his client."

Sara let out a soundless whistle. "Damn." They sat at a red light in silence. "Catherine, gambling's obviously legal here." She turned her head, meeting the shadowed blue eyes. "We can't touch Judge Cohen. But Brown? He's gone." The light changed, and she drove the vehicle forward. "Maybe the Sheriff will just fire him, but he could still face charges."

"There has to be a way, Sara." Catherine wasn't ready to give up. "I talked with Grissom about the case. The one the Judge issued the warrant on." She pursed her lips, leg bouncing as she considered the facts. "He didn't say much, but apparently there wasn't enough evidence for the warrant. Brass was the graves supervisor then, and he refused to apply for the warrant. He told Warrick to wait."

"You think the bet was a payoff?" Looking intrigued, Sara smiled crookedly. "It still isn't enough to charge him, but if we got him on tape admitting the deal, the Ethics Committee might step in."

Catherine chuckled. "You know, you might not be as bad as I thought."

"Gee, thanks," Sara responded wryly. They shared a smile before Sara got back to business. "Are you hoping Brown can cut a deal if he agrees to roll on the Judge?"

"It's worth a shot, Sara." She leaned her head back against the headrest. "He's a good kid, and a hell of a CSI." Catherine fought the need for sleep, though a huge yawn broke out. "Sorry," she muttered, then continued, "We've all done favors to grease the wheels. Warrick just got caught up in something none of us ever expected."

Sara held her peace, still unsure about the scenario. "We're almost at the morgue. Let's go in, get the evidence to put Holly's killer away, and then take another look at the evidence. Brown's supposed to meet me at the Sheriff's office. All three of us, maybe Grissom, too, can sit down and figure this out."

"OK," Catherine agreed reluctantly. Although glad Sara hadn't dug in her heels and insisted on pressing forward on the investigation, she needed to know the brunette CSI would back her play. "Whatever we do, though, it needs to be fast. With a suspect in custody, the Sheriff is going to push this to the end. He'll want complete closure."

Sara turned off the Tahoe, and removed the keys from the ignition. "We'll drop the evidence at the lab and go talk to Brown." Avoiding Catherine's eyes, she commented, "Or you could call him up and see if he's willing to meet us at the lab."

Catherine's hands balled into fists on her thighs. "Let me guess…you pushed too hard, and Warrick shut down," she snapped. "Damn it. Did they not teach you how to conduct an interrogation in San Francisco?"

"He kept trying to shift responsibility." Sara continued to stare straight out the windshield. Frustrated and a little embarrassed at her poor handling of the scene with Brown, her voice rose. "Whatever the reason, he placed that bet. Brown broke the rules. We both know that. I'm trying to help, Catherine. I am. Don't make me regret that."

The words rang in Catherine's ears as she climbed out of the SUV. Slamming the door with a little more force than necessary, she waited for Sara to join her. "Point taken." Her voice was low, tight. "You could finish your report, burn Warrick, and walk away. No muss, no fuss." She met Sara's eyes. "I'll call and set up the meet just as soon as we finish here."

"Good enough." Sara stuffed her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The trip inside the morgue was quiet, but there was less tension between them. Grissom waited for them near the cooler, head bowed. "Hey," Sara said quietly. "Why don't I just stay here?" She touched Catherine's shoulder gently. "Holly was one of your team. I'd just be in the way."

Blinking back sudden tears, Catherine nodded jerkily. "Thanks," she whispered huskily. Continuing down the hallway alone, she tightened her grip on the evidence kit in her right hand, and fought to get her emotions under control. As she got closer, Grissom pushed away from the wall, standing upright. "You didn't have to come." Catherine spoke in a soft voice, almost afraid to break the atmosphere in the building.

"I know." He smiled slightly. "I wanted to." His bloodshot eyes glanced over Catherine's shoulder to Sara, leaning against the wall at the far end of the hall. "Is she coming?"

"No. In fact, I think she's giving us space to handle this on our own." Sitting the kit down for a minute, Catherine hugged her arms around herself. "She's good, Gil. Maybe too good, at least for Warrick's sake." She saw Grissom stiffen. "I need to process the evidence, get it back to the lab. Then we all need to talk." Catherine cleared her throat. "I was going to call and ask Warrick to meet us at the lab, but," she smiled wryly, "there isn't much left in the tank. Can you do it?"

Grissom nodded, playing with the sunglasses in his hands. "How bad is it?'

"Bad." She met his eyes, trying to convey the hope she still held "Not unsalvageable, maybe."

"I'll take care of it." Watching her carefully, he glanced at the door to the autopsy cooler. "Want me to do this?"

Catherine shook her head minutely. "No. I need to do it. I owe Holly that much, Gil."

Eyes warming with sympathy, Grissom said, "I'll be right here if you need me."

It was time. Catherine knew she had to go inside. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she reached out a shaking hand and pushed into the cooler. The bright lights bounced off the steel tables and equipment, but to Catherine, the room was done in shades of black and grey. Numbly scanning the name cards on the various drawers, she finally located the one labeled Gribbs, Holly. She stood for a moment with her eyes closed. When she felt focused and calm enough to continue, Catherine opened the draw with purposeful movements and yanked on the sliding table.

With a clicking sound, the table came out, revealing a bagged form. Ignoring the bile rising in her throat, Catherine narrowed her focus further, concentrating on each task. Unzipping the bag with gloved hands, she reached behind her into the evidence kit. The sealed wooden scraper was familiar, comforting. Opening it, Catherine turned back to the body. Her eyes locked onto the cold, lifeless face of the young rookie CSI. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Seconds passed in silence as Catherine dragged the wooden tool under each of Holly's nails in turn before sealing it in a paper sheath for processing.

Catherine closed her kit and returned Holly to the darkness of the refrigerated drawer. Sweat beaded her forehead by the time she exited the room. Grissom raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on her wan appearance. Instead, he held out a hand and took her arm, escorting her down the hallway. Sara nodded to them both, sweater pulled close around her.

"Are we ready for the lab?" she asked hesitantly, eyes darting between Catherine and Grissom.

Catherine nodded, but Grissom elaborated. "We have the evidence, and Warrick is on his way there. It's time to put this one to bed."


	7. Chapter 7

Catherine glanced at Gil as they rode toward the lab. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" He avoided her eyes, staring out the windshield.

Smiling wryly, Catherine elaborated. "About Warrick and the gambling." She noted his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He'd known. Disbelief and anger warred. "My God, Gil. At least tell me you didn't figure it out until _after_ Holly died."

"Catherine-" Grissom's quiet voice started.

"Don't, Gil. Don't give me the 'we're all about the evidence' speech.'" Catherine's voice rose, filling the SUV. "We lost one of our own, and Warrick may end up charged over this. If you knew when he went out with Holly, you're just as responsible."

Her words appeared to have some impact. Catherine watched Grissom frown, shoulders slumping forward slightly. "I suspected he was gambling, but he's never done anything on the clock that I could find."

"Oh, God, Gil. How long have you suspected what he's been doing?" Catherine wanted to close her eyes and forget this conversation. The whole situation kept getting more complicated and horrific.

Grissom met her eyes briefly. "Not long. When the first warrant came through, there were enough irregularities to start an investigation. I was going to Brass at the end of shift."

Catherine rubbed her hands over her face. They'd all had a hand in Holly's death. Her head pounded. If only Gil had done something sooner. If only she herself hadn't talked Holly into completing her first case. If only Warrick hadn't left the scene to place a bet. "What do we do now?" she asked, voice pleading for a way to fix everything.

"I don't know." Gil sounded lost, tired.

"We need something before we get to the lab." Catherine forced herself to straighten. "You're new bloodhound isn't going to let us sweep this under the rug. Although," hope flared for an instant, "she may be willing to look at other options."

Grissom crushed her hope. "Sara's a scientist, Cath. She's not going to be swayed by emotions. Her report will be a clear, concise retelling of facts."

"Then we need to find a way to make the facts work for us," Catherine said, voice determined.

The hum of the fluorescent lights sounded like an airplane engine in the small lab. Sara watched the other three people in the room with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Brown had been waiting when she'd returned from the morgue.

"So, are we going to sit here like this all night?" she tried. Pulling her sweater tighter across her chest against the still blasting air conditioning, Sara forged ahead. "My report is almost ready to go."

Catherine looked up at her from her position by the door. "No." Green eyes looked to Grissom, narrowing in apparent anger when he didn't say anything. "Let's talk options."

"There are no options, Cath." Brown joined the conversation. Under the glare of the light, his dark skin looked paler than Sara remembered from the casino. "I appreciate you trying to help and all, but don't get yourself into trouble on my account."

"'Rick-" Catherine began.

"No, let him talk." Sara stood abruptly, stalking around the table in the middle of the room. "Are you finally ready to tell us what really happened, Mr. Brown?" She grabbed the phone records Catherine had been working on earlier and waved them at him. "Judge Cohen called you after the investigation on the Gribbs shooting started. Is he your client? Is that why you left a rookie CSI alone at a scene?" She was in his personal space, demanding a response.

He rose, towering over Sara. "Yeah, he was. Does that help my cause?" Brown's voice was rough and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Why are we here? Just call Brass and get a deputy down here to arrest me."

Catherine looked ready to jump in, so Sara held up a hand and glared fiercely, warning her to stay out of the conversation. Not backing down an inch, she continued to press Brown. She wasn't going out on a limb with her recommendation to the Sheriff without some cooperation from the CSI in front of her. "I can do that. In fact, I should be doing it right now. Your teammates, though, think you're worth saving. Make a decision. Keep shutting the investigation down, or start talking. I've got enough evidence to bury you. Give me a reason to forget someone died on your watch. Convince me to help you out."

"What do you want to know?" Brown took a step back and leaned against the table.

Sara considered the question. "For now, just the highlights leading up to you leaving the scene. Eventually, though, you're going to have to tell me everything." She relaxed a little, rotating her shoulders to relieve some of the strain. A quick scan of the room showed Catherine and Grissom were focused on the conversation.

Looking at the floor, he nodded. "Alright. I went to the Judge for a warrant on the Toenail Case. Brass had turned me down; said we didn't have enough evidence. I disagreed. Judge Cohen and I go way back. We met at a blackjack table right after I started working here."

"Is this the first time he's asked you to place a bet for him in exchange for a warrant?" Catherine asked. Sara resisted the urge to tell the older woman to leave. Brown was giving them the information. She didn't want him getting defensive and shutting down again.

"Yeah." Brown admitted. Looking sheepish, he muttered, "It's not the first time I've taken his money, though."

"We'll talk about that in a minute." Sara stared Catherine down, waiting until the blonde flounced back in her chair. "After you went for the warrant, what happened?"

"He gave me the warrant and I agreed to put five thousand dollars on the Packers game." He rubbed his face with a hand. "Brass got pissed about the warrant and pulled me off the case. Told me to shadow Holly."

Sara sank down into the chair Brown had abandoned. "That doesn't make sense." Hunching her shoulders, she ran the facts over in her mind. "Unless the policy here is a lot different, training a new CSI goes to the senior member of the crew." Sara ran a hand through her hair, eyes watching for a reaction.

Brown leaned forward, elbows on knees. "It was my hundredth case," he said simply.

"You wanna explain that?" Sara tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Solving your hundredth case is an automatic promotion to CSI level three." Grissom met Sara's eyes. "Warrick lost sight of the most important thing – the evidence – because he wanted to beat Nick to the finish line. They were both on the verge of promotion."

Sara sat back, staring at the two men in turn. "This just keeps getting worse. Grissom, you do realize that my report has to indicate yours and Brass' culpability, too?"

Grissom nodded. "It's one of the reasons I asked you to do the investigation. Anyone from the team would have tried to gloss over the facts or cover things up." He smiled slightly. "Now that we all know just how bad it looks, what are we going to do about it?"

"You know my thoughts on the matter, Gil." Catherine leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"You wanna clue the rest of us in?" Sara asked sarcastically. "I don't feel like guessing, and I bet Mr. Brown feels the same."

"Wrong." Brown shook his head. "I'm ready to take responsibility for this. Whatever happened with Brass and Grissom, it was me who left Holly at that scene. I don't want to waste a lot of time trying to get out of this or get anyone else to take the fall."

The room fell silent. Jumping from the chair, Sara started to pace. "I'm the last person to suggest you shift the blame, Mr. Brown."

"Warrick." He smiled when Sara looked at him. "Mr. Brown is for court. Call me Warrick."

"Um, right. Warrick, there's more at stake now than just you. If I file this report, and I don't offer any ways to resolve the issues, you're out of a job." Sara folded her arms, watching him. "More than that, you'll probably face criminal charges. Grissom and Captain Brass are out, too. There are so many broken rules and policy shortcuts here, no one is coming out clean. The only way to salvage anybody's career is to go to the Sheriff with a plan."

Catherine stood up and stretched. "We have to go after the judge," she said forcefully. Her eyes swept the room, daring anyone to contradict her.

"No way." Warrick took the dare, shaking his head. "I've got nothing on him. I can't prove he asked me to do anything."

""Maybe not yet," Sara offered quietly. "I don't think we've heard the whole story, though. In the casino, you were a man with a mission. Something happened with the bet. Did the judge lose?"

Rubbing a hand across his face, Warrick grimaced. "Not exactly."

Three sets of eyes stared at him until he continued.

"Grissom called to say they'd nailed the guy on the Toenail Case while I was at the window making the bet. I got a little distracted." He smiled slightly. "I put the money on the wrong team. Five thousand on the 'Niners instead of the 'Pack to win."

"Whoa!" Catherine's eyes were wide. "That's a lot of money to lose."

"Ten g's," Warrick agreed. "Cohen grabbed me in the parking lot right after I got suspended. Told me I had a day to get him his money. That's why I was at the Silverton this afternoon."

For the first time since beginning the investigation, Sara felt confident in the outcome. "That works in our favor." She smiled crookedly at the other three. "You've got the money. We wire you up for when you meet with the Judge. If you can get him to admit to arranging the warrant for the bet, the Sheriff can go to the Ethics Committee."

"Bad for the Judge. How does it help me and Griss, though?" Warrick wanted to know.

"That's up to the Sheriff. I'm thinking a letter of reprimand, maybe even a reset of the case clock." When Warrick frowned, Sara rephrased her comment. "No promotion to CSI Three. Grissom and Captain Brass are harder. They've got supervisory status. The weight of command makes it harder to shift responsibility."

Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I'm a little fish in all this. The Sheriff may give me a letter of reprimand, but he won't do anything more drastic right now. He's got no one to replace me. Jim's already been punished. He was demoted and returned to homicide. If we can get the judge on tape, I think I can convince the Sheriff to let it go at that."

A/N: The muse has been demanding a vacation. Although I argued vehemently against it, she won (as always). Updates may be a little slower than normal, probably closer to every other week until the muse decides she's happy again.


	8. Chapter 8

Sara rolled her neck, rubbing at the tight muscles. "OK, Grissom. You think we should do the deed, and then present it to the Sheriff?" She watched as the older man tap the earpiece of his glasses against his lips. "Grissom?" Sara was too impatient to wait for a response.

"Yes." He avoided meeting her eyes. Although his voice was firm, Sara didn't believe he was sure it was the right decision.

"What if the bust goes bad?" Catherine asked from her position near the door. Sara watched the other woman run a slender hand through her hair. "Gil?" The smooth voice carried a note of irritation when her supervisor didn't answer.

"What do you want me to say, Cath?" Grissom snapped, finally glancing up from his study of the floor. "We're under the microscope on this one. If we take Sara's report and recommendations to the Sheriff, he's going to fire Warrick, at the very least. It will look better on the evening news."

"Then do that," Warrick said explosively. "I know what I did was wrong, Grissom. Getting the rest of you in trouble isn't right." He crossed well-muscled arms over his chest, glaring down at Grissom. "File the report. I'll take the fall. You can work on bringing down the judge another day."

Sara watched the byplay between the team members and considered the options. Her career wasn't on the line, no matter what her report said. She was here on a leave of absence to do a favor for Grissom. The Sheriff _might_ contact her boss with comments about her report. He might not. Should she push for one outcome over another? It was obvious which outcome Catherine favored. Grissom was a harder read. She thought he might be behind a rescue operation.

"Warrick, if we go ahead with the sting, what are your plans for after – assuming we can bring the judge down?" Sara regarded Warrick, needing to see his reaction. If he wasn't willing to offer some plan to change his behavior, there was no reason to go out on a limb for him. She'd file her report and deal with Catherine's anger.

"What do you mean?" He frowned. Sara stared into his green eyes, noting his confusion.

"I mean, Catherine and Grissom obviously want to help you keep your job. What do they get in return?" She stuffed her hands back in the pockets of her sweater, feeling her way.

Catherine jumped into the conversation, verbal guns blazing. "We don't want anything, Warrick." She took a couple of steps in Sara's direction. "I don't know how they do things where you're from, but here, we look out for each other."

Clenching her jaw, Sara ignored the challenge. Turning away from the blonde, she kept her focus on Warrick. Her decision depended on his answer to her previous question, not on her gut-level need to prove herself to Catherine Willows. "Warrick?"

"You looking for something in particular?" He pushed away from the table. "I mean, I won't be making any bets on the clock from now on."

"For me to do this, you need to give me more." The quiet words seemed to echo in the small room. Sara stared at him, willing him to understand and take the final step.

No one moved, the hum of the overhead lights the only sound.

Finally, Warrick nodded at Sara. "I'll go through the department, get set up for counseling." Pausing, he looked at Grissom and Catherine. "I appreciate you guys standing up for me. I won't let you down again. The gambling – all of it – stops here, I promise."

From the corner of her eye, Sara saw Catherine's eyes widen at the news. Grissom sat back in his chair with a relieved sigh. It was enough. Sara relaxed, a smile creeping out. "Alright, then." She turned to Grissom. "This is your lab, Griss. What's our first step?"

"To be honest, I don't know." Grissom put his glasses back on. "You seem to have a plan in mind. What do you want to do?"

Rubbing her hands on her thighs, Sara frowned. "It's pretty late. Warrick, can you call the judge? Set up a meet for the morning?"

"Sure. If you want to move sooner, though, I'm sure he'll go for a meeting tonight," Warrick answered. "He's anxious to get his money back."

Catherine walked over, standing with her shoulder pressed against Warrick's. "The faster we move, the better. I imagine the Sheriff's going to be pushing really hard to close this investigation now that we have Holly's killer in custody." Tucking her hair behind her ear, she glanced at Sara. "We have to bring Jim in on this. He's got the wire for the meeting, and he might know a judge who'll give us a warrant without tipping off Cohen."

"Good call." Sara nodded to the other woman. "Why don't you call Captain Brass? The two of us can meet with him and get the equipment. Grissom, you and Warrick set up the thing with the Judge." She rocked on her heels, feeling more awake as adrenaline rushed through her. "Try and give us at least a couple of hours to get things set up on our end."

Catherine strode out of the small lab, the click of her heels echoing in the empty hallway. As she walked, she listened to Brass on her cell phone.

"Cath, are you crazy? You want to go after Judge Cohen?" She walked into the break room and signaled for Sara to follow her. "He's one of the most respected judges we have."

"Look, Jim. Are you in or out?" Catherine asked impatiently. If he wasn't on board, they'd have to come up with a new plan. Her former supervisor didn't answer right away. Hurrying down the hall with Sara trailing behind, Catherine tried again. "Look, Jim, it's the only way to keep Warrick on the team. Sara and I are on the way to the Sheriff's Office. We'll be there in less than thirty."

A sigh sounded in her ear. "Alright. I'll have the equipment ready."

"And the warrant?" she pushed, glancing at Sara and waving her free hand in frustration.

"I'll see what I can do." Brass' voice was rough with exhaustion. "I still have a few markers I can call in. Maybe they'll be enough to convince a judge to authorize the wire."

Smiling triumphantly, Catherine flashed Sara a thumbs up sign. The tall brunette grinned back. "Thank you, Jim." Catherine sobered a little as she talked to the homicide detective. "I know we're all taking a risk. Warrick's worth it."

"I hope you're right, Cath. I'll see you in a few." Brass hung up, Catherine closed her phone before dropping it into her purse.

"He's working on the warrant now, Sara." Catherine pushed open the front door to the Crime Lab and held it until the younger women exited. "You have a plan in case we can't get the authorization?"

She bit back a laugh at the wide-eyed look she received. "Me?" Sara asked, voice almost squeaking on the word. "When did I become the mastermind behind this?"

Catherine waited until they had pulled out of the lot to answer. "Grissom told us you were some kind of wunderkind." A slight exaggeration, but Catherine thought a little flattery might smooth the way. "You've managed to pull all the pieces together and give us a chance to keep the situation from spiraling out of control."

A slight blush made Sara's freckles stand out. "You're the one who found the connection to Cohen in the phone records."

"I did." Catherine nodded, slowing to let a group of tourists cross the Strip in front of the Tahoe. "I don't think I would have even been looking there if I hadn't been so pissed about you poking around in our case."

She noticed Sara staring at her.

"What? It's true." She met Sara's shocked brown eyes. "Grissom may be an unemotional pain in the ass sometimes, but he isn't usually wrong." Catherine smiled wryly. "We were too close to Holly's case. If I'd been left in charge of investigating Warrick, I might have overlooked the facts because I wanted him to be clean."

The interior of the SUV grew quiet. Catherine thought back over the investigation. She'd always prided herself on her investigative skills. She hadn't covered herself in glory since Holly's death. If Sara hadn't pushed for answers, Catherine knew she would have accepted his surface explanation for his disappearance.

"You OK?" Sara's hand on her thigh jerked her out of her thoughts.

"Getting there," Catherine replied honestly. "It's going to take some time to get over missing the facts on this one." She pulled the Tahoe into the lot in front of the Sheriff's Office and turned off the engine. "Probably going to be a lot of that going around. We all lost sight of the evidence this time."

Sara opened her door, and the dim glow of the interior light showed her slight smile. "Catherine, let it go. We've got the evidence, and Warrick might be off the hook. Focus on getting what we need on the judge. You can't change what happened to Holly. We can only change what happens now."

A bark of laughter tore from Catherine's throat. "Save that piece of drivel for someone else." She glared at the other woman. "I screwed up. I know that. Don't brush it off like I just forgot to put the lid back on the toothpaste."

"Hey, all I'm saying-" Sara began.

"Give it a rest." Catherine stalked toward the building, furious at the younger woman for not understanding how angry she was at herself for ignoring the evidence. Once inside, she headed for Brass' new office, bypassing the reception desk. Knocking sharply on the doorframe, Catherine peered at the top of Brass' head. "You got the warrant?"

He glanced up. "Hello, Catherine. It's so nice to see you. And Ms. Sidle, welcome to Las Vegas."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Catherine smiled reluctantly. "Sorry, Jim. You know how I get when things start to come together."

"I do." Brass smiled crookedly and stood up. "The warrant is on its way. Judge Henderson is having it couriered over." Brass' smile turned hard. "He thought it might be safer that way. We're all putting ourselves on the line for this."

"You're preaching to the choir, Jim." Catherine moved into the office and sank into one of the chairs. She saw Sara hesitate in the doorway. "Have a seat, Sara. We can't do anything until the paperwork gets here."


	9. Chapter 9

"Will you stop that?" Catherine snapped. Her head pounded with a mixture of exhaustion and irritation. Sara's leg finally stopped moving, and the SUV quit rocking in response.

Sara sounded subdued when she replied, "Sorry. Didn't mean to…" She broke off. "I'm just a little nervous, you know? This whole thing was basically my idea."

Realizing there was a lot going on in Sara's head, Catherine took a deep breath. Just because she was tired and strung out on her own fears didn't mean she had to beat up on Sara. "Not as confident as you pretended, huh?"

"You finally caught on?" There was wry amusement in Sara's tone, and a smile flitted across her face. "Grissom must have forgotten to tell your crew I'm more at home behind the microscope than under it."

"Grissom's not one for giving out information." Catherine frowned and sat forward in the driver's seat. "Hold that thought," she continued. Her breathing quickened. "We've got company." A silver Mercedes was wheeling through the deserted parking garage.

Sara flicked on the recording equipment on the console between them. "We're rolling, Catherine." As she spoke, Catherine could hear rustling through the equipment.

"Alright, ladies. Show time." Warrick's whisper was tight. They were all wound up over the coming sting.

Fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel, Catherine held her breath, waiting. Their unmarked SUV sat at the entrance to the garage. They couldn't see Warrick and the judge. They could only listen in. Even with the volume up, it was hard to make out the voices. "Fuck. The concrete's interfering with the signal." Panicking, she reached for the door handle.

"Whoa!" Sara lunged across the car and gripped Catherine's shoulder. "What are you doing?" she cried out.

"Did you miss the part where the equipment isn't working right?" Catherine shouted back. Warrick was dangling himself in front of the judge right now, and they weren't going to get anything on tape.

Sara looked disgusted. "Jesus, Catherine, calm down. It's working fine. Warrick must have shifted or something. The static's gone now."

Sure enough, Catherine heard voices clearly over the wire tap.

"Here's your money, Judge," Warrick snapped. Catherine strained, wanting the silence to end. "It's all there." Cohen must have been counting the cash.

"Ten thousand dollars," she heard an unfamiliar voice say. "That was almost a very costly mistake you made."

Perched stiffly in the driver's seat, Catherine willed Warrick to follow the plan. They had to get the judge to admit to signing the warrant in exchange for the bet.

Warrick's voice exploded from the equipment; Catherine flinched at the anger and pain evident in his reply. "Mistake? A girl died on my watch. It's more than just a mistake."

"Deal and move on, Warrick."

At the judge's indifferent comment, Sara muttered a disbelieving, "Bastard."

Catherine nodded in agreement, but waved a hand, wanting to hear the conversation.

"So, I should just pretend it never happened." Warrick must have moved again, rustling sounded in the speakers. "We're through. Have a nice night, Judge."

Catherine's eyes widened. What the hell was Warrick thinking? They didn't have enough. Actually, they had nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief, slumping in her seat, when the judge called out, "You don't leave until I tell you to leave. We're not finished yet."

"Excuse me?" Catherine smirked. Warrick was pissed.

"Come on, 'Rick. You can do it," she mumbled, noting Sara was hunched closer, listening to the confrontation.

"We've got more business to do." The judge sounded far too self-satisfied. Catherine flicked a glance at Sara. The other investigator frowned in confusion, and raised an inquiring eyebrow. Shrugging her lack of knowledge, Catherine tuned back in for Warrick's response.

"I'm done doing business with you, Judge. The price is too high." Rustling, then a dull thud.

"Hey, you watch it, Mister." Was that fear in the judge's voice? Catherine hoped so. "You came to me, remember? You offered the tip on the game in exchange for the warrant."

"Gotcha!" Catherine grinned in relief.

The grin disappeared when Sara waved a hand, hissing out, "Shhh!" She pointed to the recording equipment.

What had she missed? Heart pounding, Catherine picked up the judge's voice again. "…you're dirty now. Just like me. We're in bed together whether you like it or not."

He paused, and Catherine though she heard Warrick breathing heavily into the mike. There was no response from her teammate, though.

The judge filled the silence. "You can't turn me in without exposing yourself. From here on out, I own you."

"No one owns me!" Warrick's voice was rough, angry.

"I do, buddy. You're going to be my personal eyes and ears in the lab." The judge's voice got louder. He wasn't yelling. Catherine figured one or the other of the two men had changed position. "I've owe some people a few favors. When the time's right, I'll give you a call."

This was more than a simple bet. Catherine froze in place, willing the judge to cross the line. If they got him on more than just the betting, maybe he'd actually end up on the other side of the bench. _Please, please_, she chanted in an internal mantra.

"You wanna explain that?" Warrick asked.

_Good boy_, Catherine mentally told him. He needed to get the judge to talk, give specifics on what he wanted.

"Judges aren't appointed on a whim," Cohen nearly mumbled. "There are some families who've made sure I stayed on the bench. I might need you to take care of some evidence for me once in a while."

"Yes!" Sara pumped a fist in the air and held out a hand for a high five.

Grinning, Catherine complied before flicking open her cell phone. "Time to call in Brass and the deputies," she said in satisfaction.

Sara leaned against the doorframe and watched the night shift crew congratulate Warrick. Thanks to the judge's admission, the Sheriff had agreed to accept Sara's recommendation and keep Warrick around (sans promotion). The judge was sitting in a jail cell awaiting arraignment. Sipping at her coffee, Sara grimaced at the cold, bitter brew. It must be time to leave. She smiled wryly. No one would even notice if she slipped away.

The walk down the hall didn't take long. She gathered up her few personal items – and jumped when at the voice behind her.

"You didn't come in and join the party," Catherine stated quietly. "We don't bite. Well, Greg might," she said with a laugh.

Sara shrugged, hefting her shoulder bag. "Your crew, your party." She was stunned Catherine had even given her a thought. "I'd just be in the way."

"It was _your_ plan that got us Warrick back." Catherine shook her head. "How are you not part of the team?'

"Well, for one, I don't really work here. Remember?" Sara snapped. What the hell was Catherine's deal? From the beginning, she'd been the one reminding everyone – including Sara – that she didn't belong here. "And, two…" she trailed off, then continued awkwardly, "There is no number two."

Catherine chuckled and moved into the lab. "Ah, got carried away, didn't you?"

"Something like that." Sara crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for the ridicule.

It didn't come. "Look, it's been a hell of a couple of days. None of us can stay long, but we'd like for you to at least have breakfast with us before we all scatter and go our separate ways for the day." Catherine's blue eyes pleaded silently for a yes.

Sara tried to resist. She wasn't much for groups and joining.

"Please?" the blonde asked, and Sara wavered as Catherine peered up through her lashes.

Laughing reluctantly, Sara didn't answer directly. She walked toward the door, brushing past the other woman. "You work on that look, don't you?"

"Hell, no. I don't have to." Catherine walked next to Sara down the hall. "My daughter uses it all the time. I figured, if it works on me, it's probably good on anybody." Before Sara had a chance to reply, they reached the break room. "Hey, guys, I found her. Get this – she was in the lab."

"I told you, Catherine. Sara's like me," Grissom announced.

For some reason, Sara found herself resenting her mentor's comment. A little more sharply than intended, she snapped, "I was cleaning up and getting ready to leave. I'm done here."

Grissom looked confused. "Didn't you take thirty days' leave?"

Catherine thrust a cup of coffee into Sara's hand. "Ignore him, Sara. Come party with the 'in crowd.' If you let him, Grissom will talk shop all morning."

Warmed by the inclusion, Sara smiled fully. "I'll be right there." When Catherine raised a single eyebrow in obvious disbelief, she protested, "Really. I promise."

"OK. I warned you, though. Hours from now, when he's going on and on about some bug, you'll remember I tried to help out." Catherine wandered back toward the rest of the crew.

Sara glanced at Grissom. "I did take a full month. You know that." She took a deep breath, still irked at him. "Unless you have something else for me to do, I'm on the next flight back to San Francisco. I don't do vacations."

"Well, I'm an investigator short," Grissom replied. "I thought you'd stay here and work graves with us."


	10. Chapter 10

"That's one hell of an assumption, Grissom." Sara stared at the older man in disbelief. "Were you going to ask me? Or just call my boss back in San Francisco like I'd said yes?"

Grissom frowned, looking confused at her irritated questions. "Well, don't you want to stay?"

Sara exploded. "That's not the point!" The quiet hum of voices across the room stopped. Avoiding a glance over her shoulder at the other members of Grissom's team, she kept her eyes locked on Grissom. "You called me out here to do a favor. To be an objective investigator. At no time was there a job offer."

"I just made one, Sara." The quiet, sensible tone had Sara's teeth grinding. "Do you want to call your boss in the morning? Or, I can do it."

Catherine knew there was trouble at Sara's shout. "Back in a minute," she murmured to Nick. He nodded, giving her a small smile. Although the conversation had resumed after Sara's outburst, they'd all been watching the byplay across the room.

Striding back to Sara, Catherine dropped a hand on her shoulder. "Everything OK?" She smiled at Grissom. Under her hand, Sara's muscles tensed. She gripped harder, willing the younger woman to stay in control. "We're about to head to the diner. You joining us?" Catherine ignored her supervisor. The question was directed at Sara.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready to go." Sara's voice was tight, and Catherine bit back a grin. Grissom had a gift for irritating people.

"I'll drive." Catherine moved away, waiting for Sara to grab her things. "Is that all you have?" One bag and a sweater?

The narrow shoulders shrugged. "I travel light." Sara smiled, draping the green garment over her arm. "Besides, I wasn't planning on the case breaking so quickly. Most of my stuff's back at the hotel."

As they walked through the now-busy hallways, Catherine asked, "Grissom put you up? Where?" She knew the budget for the department was tight. It was probably some roach motel off-strip.

"Some extended stay place off Paradise." Sara held the door as the entered the already-blistering heat of the Las Vegas morning. Immediately, she squinted, scrabbling in her bag. Seconds later, she donned wrap around sunglasses. "God, how do you deal with this?"

"The heat? The unending traffic?" The alarm on the Denali chirped as Catherine disengaged it. "Gil?" she finished with a grin.

"Well, I _was_ referring to the heat and the bright sunlight." Sara glanced over. "Now that you mention it, though…Grissom is an issue." Buckling her seat belt, she shook her head. "What is his problem?"

Catherine put on her own sunglasses and checked the mirrors before backing out of the parking spot. "Hard to say. Especially since I don't know what he's done this time. Long-term exposure to our fearless leader, though, suggests high levels of intelligence paired with zero personal skills." Giving in to her curiosity, she asked, "What did he do to push your buttons this morning."

"Offered me a job." Sara's quiet voice barely penetrated the external sounds of morning traffic on the Strip.

A quick look showed Sara's head resting against the passenger window, her eyes closed. "From the tension I saw between you and Gil in the break room, I'm guessing that wasn't part of the original plan?" The brunette head shook slightly. "Ah. Let me guess," Catherine intoned wryly, "he didn't ask. He simply assumed you'd be staying."

"Bingo." Sara peered at Catherine. "I can't believe him. He calls up out of nowhere, asks me to take a leave of absence to look into the Gribbs case. There was never anything else. Do the investigation, file my report, go back to San Francisco."

Catherine brought her full attention to the road for a minute, passing a car full of gaping tourists. Pulling back into the correct lane, Catherine frowned. She might have been anti-Sara in the beginning, but the younger woman had earned her stripes. "Did you turn Gil down?" she asked, hoping the answer was no.

"Not yet," Sara said. "Part of me wants to string him along, first." She chuckled. "I know, not nice."

"No chance you'd actually take the job?" Catherine pushed. They were down an investigator. Before her death, Holly had been an uncertain choice for the position at best. Maybe what the team really needed was a CSI unafraid to challenge their complacency.

Freckled shoulders rose and fell. "I'm up for promotion at home. I'd be low man on the totem if I transferred." Sara unbuckled her seatbelt, moving so her back rested against the passenger-side door. "Besides, I'm not sure I want to work where I'm so clearly the enemy."

Flinching, Catherine raised her right hand as if warding off a blow. "Ouch!"

"Am I wrong?" Sara's voice was relentless.

"Yes…well, now." Clearing her throat, Catherine shrugged sheepishly. "I freely admit to my earlier failings, though, and I humbly apologize." A glance in the rearview mirror showed the rest of the crew a few vehicles back. Wanting to make her plea privately, Catherine gripped the steering wheel. When they stopped at a red light, she met Sara's eyes. "Stay, Sara."

Sara stared in shock at Catherine. A thousand questions zinged through her mind. The only one she managed to choke out, however, was, "Huh?"

A smile twitched Catherine's lips, and Sara felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. "I said, stay." She glanced at Sara. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot. My bad. I'm a territorial bitch."

Sara nodded automatically in agreement. Oh, yeah. That was the truth.

"However," Catherine continued, "I try to offset that by being big enough to admit when I've made a mistake in judgment. You're a hell of an investigator, and you handled Warrick and the case better than any of us could."

That wasn't true. Not entirely. Sara started to disagree, "Catherine, you-"

"I would have found the information on the judge – if I'd been looking for it." Blonde hair waved as Catherine shook her head. "It never crossed my mind to look at Warrick as a suspect. The evidence would still be sitting there if you hadn't pushed."

Sara wasn't sure how to handle the praise. Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, she shrugged self consciously. "Thanks." Silence filled the cab for a minute. "I'm still not sure I'm ready for such a big change. I mean, Grissom sprang this on me. We haven't even talked about salary or anything." For the first time, though, moving to Las Vegas didn't sound so bad. If the crew here wasn't trying to shut her down, the bigger caseload and faster pace were big draws.

"Tell Gil you'll give it a try until the end of your leave," Catherine suggested. "That way, you haven't burned your bridges in San Francisco, and you have a chance to test out the gang. Make sure we aren't going to continue to be assholes." She turned her head, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, Sara fought an answering grin. "That's not fair to the team or to the Sheriff. I can't ask Grissom – no matter how much he irritates me – to hold off hiring another CSI just so I can play house."

"Then you'll have to make up your mind, I guess." Catherine's words might have been insulting if it weren't for the teasing smile the blonde wore. "Anything I can do to help with the decision?"

"What?" Sara's voice was loud inside the Denali.

"You OK?" Catherine glanced over again. Sara looked shocked, eyes wide. "Hey, take it easy! I wasn't planning on kidnap and torture, just a little friendly encouragement." She winked, trying to regain the lighter mood from earlier. "I thought maybe I could offer some help with Grissom and get you a better spot on the pay scale."

Sara slumped, mumbling, "Oh. OK." She didn't explain her over the top reaction, and Catherine wondered just what she'd said to set the younger woman off. "Maybe I'll take you up on that. I'd like to hear what Grissom has to say about the details."

"It's easy enough to arrange." Wheeling into the crowded parking lot, Catherine considered their options. "We could do it back at the lab, in Gil's office. Or here, with Warrick and Nick as witnesses."

"I'm not sure I want to talk money with the whole team around." Sara had recovered a little. Her voice was clear and firm. She had her arms crossed, hands rubbing over the pale skin of her forearms.

Considering that, Catherine had to nod. It wasn't the norm. In fact, it broke at least three departmental regulations she could think of off the top of her head. "What if we just lay the groundwork here? Say…you stay only if he matches or beats what you currently make? Only the two of you would know what number that is. You'd still have the rest of us as backup, though, in case Gil pulls one of his Clueless Scientist acts."

Sara chuckled. "Is that the one where he frowns, and his eyebrows go in different directions?"

"Yeah." Catherine turned off the ignition. "It usually pops up the second anyone asks him a question he doesn't want to answer." Hand on the door handle, Catherine pressed, "Yes or no, Sara? I need to give the guys a heads up if you want to corner Grissom this morning."

She had just enough time to depress the handle before Sara responded, "Let's do it. We'll see just what Grissom's willing to do to get me to take this job."


	11. Chapter 11

They walked toward the diner, Sara still shocked at Catherine's offer to help. Warrick and Nick waited for them in a corner booth.

"Hey, didn't I see you two somewhere before?" Catherine asked, striding over.

Nick shrugged. "Nah. I have one of those faces, you know. People always think they know me." He grinned and winked.

Catherine slid into the booth and looked over at Sara. "Sit. We need to do some planning before Gil wanders in. He's much easier to ambush if you have a strategy."

Hesitating, Sara wondered if she'd made the right decision. She liked the team – now. She eyed Nick and Warrick, watching her and Catherine with equal parts confusion and anticipation. "Right. Sorry. I was having a moment." She sat down and slid in next to Catherine. "What do you suggest?"

Blonde hair flipped. "Well, first we let the guys know what's up." Catherine grinned around her gum and leaned her forearms on the table. "Grissom offered Sara a job."

"Well alright!" Warrick held out his open palm to Sara.

She smacked her own palm into his. "You're OK with that? I thought you might be ready for me to leave after the last couple of days." Sara eyed him suspiciously. She'd gone after him with guns blazing. He really wanted her to stay?

He shrugged and turned to Nick. "You should see Sara in action. Whoo hee! Girl's got skills."

Amazingly, Sara thought Nick blushed. "Skills?" he drawled.

"Not those!" Her voice came out sharper than intended, and Catherine chuckled. Giving her a caustic look, Sara mumbled, "Sorry."

"I meant her interview skills, guys. Come on now." Warrick took a sip of his coffee. "She had me on the run, ready to divulge all my sins."

Sara relaxed. This was fun.

The bell over the diner's door rang. Turning her head, Sara spotted Grissom. "Uh, Catherine, you need to talk fast. The Clueless Scientist is about to make an appearance.

"OK, boys, listen up." Sara leaned on the table and listened as Catherine outline their 'plan.' She finished as Grissom wandered up to the table.

"You didn't start without me?" He grinned, twirling a pair of sunglasses in his hands. Warrick and Nick scooted over, giving Grissom room to sit down.

Nick handed Grissom a napkin and silverware. "Not yet. Cath and Sara just got here. We do have coffee, though."

The conversation flowed around Sara. Cradling her own cup of coffee, she sat and watched the byplay. Food came and went. So far, no talk of the job or really anything job related. Catherine caught her eye and tilted her head at Grissom. Sara hesitated. Maybe it would be better to let this slide.

Catherine took the decision out of her hands. "Sara has something to ask you," she informed Grissom.

"Really?" Sara's teeth snapped together at the amused, almost condescending tone in his voice. How had she missed that when they'd first met?

"Really." It came out brusque and impatient. Clearing her throat, Sara regrouped a little. The attitude might not help in the job hunting part of breakfast. "I was wondering what you were offering if I came to Vegas and joined the team."

One graying eyebrow rose. Grissom pursed his lips. "Well, Sara, you qualify for CSI Level One-"

"Two," Sara interrupted. "Check my closure rate." She dared him to question her qualifications.

Grissom's lips pressed even tighter, almost disappearing. "All right then, a CSI Level Two."

The gang jumped in to help out. Sara blushed at their heavy handed 'assistance.' "Don't let him hire you unless he matches what you were making in San Francisco." Nick winked at her. "I mean, Vegas is a small lab compared to there. And it's expensive to find a place to live, too."

A smile caused Grissom's lips to reappear. "Been giving this some thought, have you?"

Sara hunched over, hands restlessly playing with the left over silverware on the table. "No. Not really," she admitted. ""Your team's been pretty persuasive. They seem to think all this is important to hammer out."

"Not Gil's team, Sara." Catherine tossed a sugar packet at Sara. "_Your_ team." She glared at Grissom. "Make it happen, Gil. She's good. She fits in. I'll make your life a living hell if you screw it up and Sara walks."

Laughter sounded around the table. Sara smiled as Nick and Warrick made low 'oohs' and raised their hands in gestures of surrender. Grissom didn't join in the merriment. He put on his glasses, peering at Sara over the lenses. "I'll go to the Sherriff. I can't promise he'll agree."

"Well," Sara said, playing hardball, "if he doesn't, I'll go back to San Francisco." She met and held Grissom's gaze. "You have until the end of my leave, Grissom. No contract, no Sara. Got it?"

Holding the videocamera as steady as possible, Catherine skirted the large house. Most of the areas remained intact. The violence clustered in a few locations. Using her right index finger to trigger the focal length, she panned the large living room. Almost finished.

Her careful perusal was interrupted by a brusque voice near the front door.

"Get a picture of the security pad. Someone touches it before it's dusted, I break their fingers."

Catherine grinned at the bite in Sara's husky voice. She stopped the video recording and hurried to rescue her colleague. Charlie, their photographer, didn't respond well to steam rollers. By the time she reached the pair in the entry hall, Sara had moved on. Number placards dotted the floor and antique table.

Charlie, flash illuminating the dark hallway intermittently, complained, "What's her problem, Cath? I already had shots of the keypad."

"Give her a chance, Charlie. It's her first day." Catherine laid a hand on the shorter man's arm. "She's overcompensating."

He grunted and moved away, the muted click of the camera drifted over his shoulder.

Slinging the videocamera over her shoulder, Catherine followed Sara's trail of markers. She found her staring intently at the doorway from the hall into one of the bedrooms. Curiosity piqued, Catherine joined Sara, peering over Sara's shoulder.

She didn't have long before the shoulder twitched, and Sara snapped, "Wanna take a step back? I have personal space issues."

"Really?" With a smirk, Catherine pressed even closer, letting her breath wafted onto Sara's neck.

Sara shied violently, ducking and taking a step forward. "Yeah, really."

Catherine heard a note of near panic in her voice. She frowned. "Sara?" Brown eyes flicked up, met hers for just a second, and dropped to study the floor. Freckles stood out against her face. "I guess you do. Sorry. I'll make a mental note to give you some room." Stepping back, she changed the subject, not wanting to push Sara too much about her reaction. She didn't want Sara to feel threatened. "What were you looking at?"

Sara was still hunched slightly, but she did answer. "Some scratches." Sara raised her head, rolling her shoulders. "Parallel ones. Here."

A slender finger pointed out the marks. "Fingernails?" Catherine moved around Sara. The gouges marred the white molding about four inches over her head.

As she examined the chipped and scarred wood, she heard Sara digging through her kit. "By the way, what are you doing at my crime scene?" Sara asked.

Chuckling, Catherine turned around. Sara stood, holding a blacklight wand. "Actually, you're in _my_ crime scene. Whatever concessions you wrung out of Gil, I still outrank you." Sara's lips pressed together for an instant, and Catherine held up her equipment to stave off any remarks. "Video evidence."

The response still came; it wasn't the one Catherine expected. "Hey, no fair. I wanted to do that." Sara frowned. "Audio, too?"

"Yep." Catherine popped her gum and waved a storage disk at the younger woman. "Rank has a few perks." Putting the disk away, she waved at the scratches. "Want me to get the lights?"

Sara flipped on the blacklight. "Thanks."

They traded places. Sara held the want close to the door frame while Catherine turned out the lights in the hallway and room. Cool blue light bathed the area.

"Blood." Sara snapped the light off.

Catherine flipped the switch in the hallway. Yellow light replaced blue. "She struggled. You found anything else?"

"Just got here." Sara faced her. "You?"

"Nope." Catherine leaned against the wall. "Did a walkthrough and taped the scene. This is the only part of the house off kilter. The rest of the place looks like a magazine spread."

She got a slow smile from Sara. "Let's get to work then. Since you're the boss," Sara coughed lightly, "you can run the scene."


	12. Chapter 12

"Watch and learn, little girl," Catherine said, beginning to slowly walk through the large bedroom.

Sara smirked at the comeback and followed along, eyes scanning the scene. Catherine hadn't started her 'call' of the crime scene yet. Sara wondered what the older woman thought as she snapped photos of the marked evidence -. a broken family picture and the wreckage on the long dresser.

Once she'd worked her way back to Catherine, Sara got impatient with her slow and silent perusal of the room. "Hey, if you're not up to the job, I can give it a try." When Catherine didn't say anything, she went on. "Here's my read on this. It's a professional job. Our guy bypasses the security system, surprises the wife in the back hall. He grabs her, tries to drag her in here. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't go quietly."

Proud of herself, Sara waited for Catherine to respond. Still nothing.

Sara moved closer to the older investigator. "Am I talking to myself here? I thought you were calling the scene, but you haven't said anything. When _I_ talk, I'm not sure you even listen." Sara wanted Catherine's opinion of her theory, wanted to know the other woman still thought she was good at her job.

"Oh, I'm listening. I'm thinking, too, though." Catherine waved an absent hand at Sara. "Go on, finish. I want to hear what's next."

Glaring a little at the obviously distracted Catherine, she nonetheless went back to work. "Alright. Um…There's a struggle. No sign of sexual assault, though. The perp just wants in and out." She paused, standing next to the open patio doors, curtains billowing in the breeze. "He came in through these doors. Got the wife. Went out the same way," Sara finished with a firm nod.

"Uh huh," Catherine agreed. Glancing at her, Sara frowned. Catherine hadn't even been paying attention. She was staring raptly at the carpet. Damn. What had she found? "You got something?" Maybe this wasn't so cut and dried. Excitement tingled along Sara's nerves. This was why she'd stayed in Vegas.

"Dirt," Catherine replied, pointing to a pile of fine particles dusting the off-white carpet.

Sara came closer, peering around Catherine's shoulder. "You're the ranking investigator and all you can say to describe the evidence is: dirt?" Sara teased with a grin. "I was expecting you to tell me where it came from and any unique chemical markings it contained. Something more than dirt."

"Smartass." Catherine crouched and placed a number placard next to the pile. "If you want a more detailed description, you need Grissom. Me, I stick to the basics and let the lab do the rest."

Chuckling at the comment, Sara snapped a few photographs. "You ever going to tell me what you think happened?" she asked, curious to see if her theory matched Catherine's.

Catherine stood and moved to the patio doors. "Sure. I'd love to. I usually like to look at all the evidence, first, though. It saves on the red face when I'm missing some key piece of information." Looking at Sara, she asked, "Has anyone taken a look out here?"

"Not that I know of." Sara shrugged, slinging the camera over her shoulder and pulling her heavy maglight off its place on her equipment belt. Mixed with the light spilling through the open doorway, the flashlight illuminated the darkened patch of lawn behind the house. They crept forward, step by step, careful not to overreach their lighting.

Sara sniffed. There was a sickly sweet odor in the air. "Hey, Cath, did you just spray on some really cheap perfume?"

"Not even when I danced, Sara." Catherine raised an eyebrow. "And on the job? Never. It interferes with evidence collection."

"Then what's that smell?" Sara continued sniffing, feeling a little conspicuous as she moved through the yard.

"Sara!" Catherine grabbed her arm, pulling her to a halt. "There." A few feet in front of them lay a crumple white rag. Using a gloved hand, Catherine picked up the item, her nose wrinkling. "Here's your smell." She held it out to Sara.

The odor was pungent, and Sara took a step back. Even as she fought not to cough from the fumes, her mind was working. "That's not chloroform." It was close, though. Sara tried to pinpoint the chemical. "Halothane?"

"Probably. Less risky if you don't know what you're doing." Catherine popped her gum and raised an eyebrow at Sara. "You want to revise your opinion of the perp?"

Sara didn't understand. "In what way? He obviously came out this way. I say my original theory is still supported by the evidence."

She didn't like Catherine's grin. Her unease became more concrete when Catherine explained her take on the crime scene. "Our guy's definitely _not_ a pro. If he went in looking for the wife, he didn't have a plan. _He_ gets caught off guard instead of surprising her. The struggle happens. He leaves a lot of evidence. Nail marks, broken knickknacks. The dirt. It all increases the chance of getting caught. Then," Catherine held up the rag like a trophy, "he drops this. You kidnap someone and you aren't smart enough to hang on to the rag you use to knock out your victim? Amateur, all the way."

"Alright, rub it in." Sara laughed. "In case it hasn't occurred to you yet, I'm brash, possibly overconfident, and impatient. Sometimes I've been known to jump the gun."

Catherine laughed, head back. "You don't say." Sara wrinkled her nose, looking like an exasperated bunny. Catherine laughed harder.

"OK, OK. It wasn't that funny. Geez." Sara stomped off, the picture of bruised ego.

Sobering, Catherine mentally rolled her eyes. Sara was too touchy. If she was going to survive as an investigator (especially on graves), she needed to loosen up. "Let's get the evidence back to the lab. I saw Gil leave as I pulled up. He was talking to the husband. We're done here for now."

Sara's tall form stopped near the patio doors, back still to Catherine. "Fine. I can't stay to wait for the processing, though. I have appointments to look at apartments. The place Grissom put me up in is too expensive."

"I bet." Catherine stepped around Sara and back into the house. "If you don't mind me asking, where are you looking? I've lived in Vegas a long time. I can steer you clear of the worst areas and keep you from getting gouged on rent."

"Why would I mind?" Sara turned off her flashlight and re-holstered it. Catherine bit back a laugh as the heavy metal light dragged at Sara's jeans and Sara yanked them back into place. "I mean, you were the one who convinced me to stay. The least you could do is find me a place to live before I have to start selling myself on the Strip to pay the bills."

"Oh, if you get that desperate, I can introduce you to my old boss. He's always looking for dancers." Catherine gave in and grinned when Sara spun, looking at her in disbelief. "What? It's true. I could get you a job at the club in no time."

Shaking her head, Sara said, "I am so not commenting on that. Back to the apartment search. I'm heading to this place off Flamingo. Get this, it's called The Flamingo. Original, huh?"

They walked back to the entry hall, dodging the various Sheriff's deputies and technicians. "That's pretty far out. Have you looked at anything closer?" Catherine knew the housing market in Vegas was bad. She hesitated, though, to ask anything specific about Sara's financial situation.

"Far out? Really?" Sara juggled the camera still over her shoulder and her heavy kit. "When I talked with the people from the leasing office, they said it would only take me twenty minutes or so to get to the lab."

Catherine opened the door for Sara, waiting until they were outside to answer. "Hardly. With the traffic in Vegas, crossing the street can take that long. Although, things are better on graves. If we only worked from ten to seven, you'd be fine. Unfortunately, the doubles and Grissom's 'just this one last piece of evidence' shifts means one thing: rush hour."

"I should have remembered that." Sara heaved the evidence collection kit into the back of her SUV. "Damn. The one's closer are all too expensive. One of them has one bedrooms starting at a thousand dollars."

"Tell you what. The evidence won't be processed until later, and I'm hitting the limits on overtime. Follow me back to the lab. We'll drop off what we collected, and I'll go with you while you look. After the appointment, I can show you the places I'd suggest." Catherine winked at Sara. "It's not just on the job you can watch and learn from a pro."

Sara watched Catherine wander through the apartment, appraising it. It had been the same at each of the dozen places they visited. "Cath, it's a one bedroom apartment. Why does it take you twenty minutes to do a walkthrough?" She leaned back on the uncomfortable designer couch in the model unit. At least it was air conditioned.

"It's going to be your home. You need to inspect the place just like a crime scene. Did you notice the hole in the plaster in the bathroom here?" Catherine asked, hands on hips.

Smiling, Sara shook her head. "Cath, it's an apartment. They all have problems. I just need a place to crash when I'm off shift that won't bankrupt me. Any of the places we saw today would work."

She almost laughed when Catherine's eyes narrowed.

"Look, Cath," she said sincerely, "I appreciate your help, but I'm tapped out. I can't look at even one more apartment today. They are too expensive or too scary. Maybe staying is a mistake."

"Don't give up yet." Catherine dropped onto the couch next to Sara. "Give me a chance to do more research." She rubbed her hands on her pants. "If you can't afford the place you're in and you don't like any of the places from today, I have a short term solution."

When Catherine didn't continue, Sara turned, pulling her left leg up onto the couch. "I'm listening."

"I've got a guest room. Move in with me and Lindsey until you find a place," Catherine offered.


	13. Chapter 13

"I'm sorry," Sara said with a laugh, "did you just ask me to move in with you?"

Catherine tilted her head, popping her gum. Sara's eyes widened, and she shrank back when Catherine leaned closer, putting a hand on her leg. "Would that be such a hardship?"

The room was suddenly stifling. Yanking at the collar of her shirt, Sara cleared her dry throat. "No!" Her voice squeaked, and she tried again. "No." Better. Sara relaxed some. "I mean, I'm sure there are plenty of wom-…ah, people who want to move in with you."

Sara wanted to close her eyes in pain. She didn't though. She was too busy staring at Catherine's growing smile.

Noting the way Sara paled and then flushed, Catherine felt her smile grow. This was fun. Sara might be a better than average investigator. She seemed less than adept at social interaction. And that slip… Was Sara a lesbian? Catherine leaned in even closer. Dipping her shoulders, she tested her theory.

Sara's eyes flickered down and widened noticeably at the cleavage Catherine had just revealed. The blush deepened, and Sara's brown eyes snapped almost desperately back to Catherine's face. Filing the evidence away for further study, Catherine moved away and stood. Teasing was one thing - tormenting was another. "Feel free to say no," Catherine remarked as she walked to stand in front of the large sliding glass door. The sun glowed in the hazy sky. Even in the air conditioned apartment, Catherine could almost feel the heat. "I just thought it might make the move easier. New job, new city. You have enough to worry about right now."

"Yeah, I guess." Sara's words traveled faintly across the room. "It's a great idea."

Catherine raised an unseen eyebrow. She'd heard more enthusiasm from new cadets facing their first autopsy. "Hey, don't worry about it. We'll keep looking for an apartment. If you change your mind, let me know."

She heard Sara scramble off the couch. "I didn't say no," Sara protested. She hovered at Catherine's shoulder. "I just…" Two hands waved in the air. "I just hate accepting charity," she continued, the words seemingly dragged out of her.

"Sara," Catherine turned to face Sara completely, "it's not charity. Charity is like…I don't know. Canned goods for flood victims. This is a friend gesture." She held up a hand when Sara's mouth opened. "Don't say it. I know we aren't really friends – yet. We are co-workers, though. I have a room. You need a place to stay. End of story."

The electronic buzzing of the kitchen clock filled the apartment.

"Thank you," Sara said softly.

Tilting her head, Catherine smiled slightly. "Is that a 'thank you but I'm too stubborn to say yes,' or a 'thank you let's go pick up my stuff so I can move in today'?"

Sara's smile revealed the gap between her front teeth. "Let's go pick up my stuff, Cath. I think your guest room sounds fabulous." She shoved her hands in her front pockets, rocking on her heels. "Besides, if we take too long, we both know Grissom's going to call with evidence we just _have _to look at _right now_."

"So true." Catherine picked up her purse from the ornate dining room table and held open the door. "How much stuff are we talking?" she teased as they clattered down the cement stairs to the parking lot.

"Cath." Sara shoved her arm. "I thought I was going to be here for a month, tops. I've got three suitcases. One of them is filled with the latest forensics magazine and journals."

Shaking her head disbelievingly, Catherine pressed the Tahoe's remote, hearing the beep indicating the doors were unlocked. Hand on the latch, she paused. No. Sara wouldn't… "Am I really going to find a suitcase of journals in your closet?"

Sara laughed and hopped into the SUV.

Holding back a good natured grumble, Catherine opened the heavy door and slid behind the wheel. "If it's true, _you're_ carrying that one. I've seen some of those journals on Gil's desk. If I wanted to work out, I'd go to the gym."

"Grissom lets you out of the lab long enough to lift weights?" Sara asked. She stretched her feet out as much as possible in the passenger seat. "God, I think I've been in the car more than anywhere else since I got here."

"Hazard of working in Vegas. Unless we move the lab to one of the casinos, it's a long drive everywhere." Catherine headed for Sara's motel, expertly merging with the early afternoon traffic. "Of course," she added, "the crime scene would still have to be in the casino. Otherwise, we'd be driving anyway."

True to her word, Sara's suitcase of reading materials sat in her closet. "You and Grissom must be related." Catherine wrapped both hands around the handle and grunted as the case barely left the carpet. "He stuffs all his clothes in a carry on and packs bug books in his suitcase when he leaves for conferences." Deciding to save herself a hernia, she gave up trying to carry the bag, settling for dragging it instead.

"Should I ask how you know what Grissom packs on his trips?" Sara's voice drifted out of the bathroom where she was gathering her toiletries.

"Well, it depends on who you ask," Catherine called back. She left her burden by the door next to one of its mates and dropped onto the bed. "I'm pretty sure I'm sleeping with Greg this week."

Sara's head popped out of the bathroom door. "The weird kid in the lab?" She paused then asked in confusion, "You don't know if you're sleeping with him?"

Laughing, Catherine nodded. "No, I don't know. It changes pretty fast. Note I said this week. The rumor mill can't make up its mind. Next week it could be Bobby, the ballistics tech."

"Nice." Sara shook her head and disappeared back into the bathroom. Seconds later, her whole body reemerged. "I've got everything."

"Let's hit the road, then." Catherine stood and opened the door, watching in amusement while Sara carefully aligned her cardkey on the dresser and peered into all the drawers one last time. "Do you mind if we stop and get some lunch and then swing by Lindsey's school to get her? My sister Nancy normally picks her up, but since we're out and available…"

For just an instant, Sara looked confused. The frown cleared though, replaced by a wide-eyed look of near panic. "Lindsey, she's your daughter?"

"That's right." Catherine wasn't sure what was going on in Sara's head. The younger woman chewed on her lip as they loaded the bags into the back seat of the Tahoe. "Sara? Something wrong?" she probed.

"What?" Sara's head snapped up.

Catherine scooted the heavy journal case to a more secure location on the seat. "I thought I lost you somewhere for a minute." She didn't press for answers – yet. "You never said if you were OK with picking up Lindsey."

"Oh." The lip went back between Sara's teeth. "Sure. Sure, we can do that. I mean, she is your daughter. I bet she'd like a surprise from her mom."

Climbing into the driver's seat, Catherine contemplated Sara's response. It was lukewarm at best. Still, she and Lindsey hadn't spent much time together lately, especially since Holly's death. "Great. Thanks. It's been awhile since we had any quality time. I've been maxed out on overtime for the last couple of months, and it makes being a mom rough."

"I bet," Sara responded. She stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought.

Catherine let her think, content to drive in silence.

The Strip, with its garish collection of hotels and casinos, passed by in a blur. _What the hell was I thinking_? Sara asked herself. Catherine had a kid. While Sara didn't dislike children, spending more than a few minutes with one wasn't on her list of approved activities. Now, she'd be sharing a house with…"How old is Lindsey?" she said abruptly, feeling her muscles tense and a weight settle on her chest.

"Seven." Catherine glanced at Sara as she drove away from the Strip into more residential areas. "She's in the first grade this year."

The information echoed in Sara's head. Her hands clenched and unclenched against her knees. Maybe it wasn't too late to change her mind. After all, that first apartment hadn't been bad. Sara would just have to pilfer money from the evidence locker every month to pay the rent.

"Cath-" Sara started to explain her change of heart about the move. She was too late.

"What do you want to eat?" Catherine interrupted, pulling into the drive through of a McDonald's.

Mind still wrestling with the thought of living with a seven year-old, Sara murmured, "Side salad, no dressing, and a cheeseburger meal. Diet coke to drink, please." Defying the normal trend – and Sara's secret wish – they buzzed through the drive through with no wait. In minutes, they were at the school, weaving through cars, buses, and kids.

"There she is," Catherine said, unnecessarily pointing at a small blonde girl waving excitedly at them. Lindsey looked like a miniature version of Catherine with freckles.

The Tahoe dove to the curb and Catherine jumped out, grabbing her daughter in a fierce hug.

Sara's heart rate picked up, breath coming in short pants. Not now. Her vision greyed at the edges. Pressing back into the seat, Sara dragged in deliberately slow, deep breaths. The grey faded a little, the world solidifying. She could do this. She could. Chanting that over and over, Sara worked on relaxing her taught muscles and breathing slowly.

Two of the SUV's doors sprang open.

"Linds, this is Sara. We work together," Catherine's voice penetrated the buzzing in Sara's head.

Still shaking from the attack, Sara forced a smile. "Hi, Lindsey. It's nice to meet you."


	14. Chapter 14

"Hi, Sara." Lindsey slung her backpack into the back seat and climbed in after it. "Wow! McDonald's." She reached for the bag, stopping only when Catherine glared at her in the rearview mirror.

Sara watched the scene tensely, surreptitiously wiping sweat off her forehead.

"We're going to the park, young lady," Catherine said, meeting Lindsey's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Buckle up and then we'll go."

A sharp click sounded from the back seat. "Ready, Mom."

Sara took a deep breath. The pressure on her chest was fading. Another breath.

"How was school?" Catherine asked, waiting behind a row of cars gridlocked in the parking lot.

"Fine." Lindsey gave her standard reply, and Catherine stifled a sigh.

Parenting was supposed to be difficult, not impossible. She knew it had been a long time since she and Lindsey had spent any quality time, but…

Before she could try again, Lindsey asked, "So, you work in the lab, too?"

Catherine glanced at Sara when she didn't answer immediately. She'd thought Sara looked upset when she and Lindsey had gotten in the car. The younger woman still seemed off balance: pale, hands moving restlessly against her knees. This wasn't the time to ask questions, though. Not with Lindsey hanging on every word.

"Sara?" Lindsey prodded with all the tact of her age group.

"I do." Sara's voice was rough when she finally spoke, and she coughed lightly before continuing. "I just started this week."

Listening to the stilted conversation with only part of her attention, Catherine pulled out of the school lot and headed for Lorenzi Park. "Sara's an old friend of Mr. Grissom," she told Lindsey, hoping to break the conversational lull. As she drove, hHer mind replayed the trip from the apartment to the school. Sara had been fine until then.

"You know Uncle Gil?" Lindsey made it sound as if she thought Catherine had lied.

"I met him when I was in school," Sara confirmed. Again, she didn't elaborate. Her voice was closer to normal, though, the strain no longer so evident.

They were getting closer to the park, and Catherine tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Traffic had been bad. She should have waited until after picking up Lindsey to get the food. Cold fries were vile.

While she grumbled to herself, Lindsey continued her interrogation. "Were you in elementary school, like me?"

Sara snorted, a faint grin appearing. "No, Lindsey. Grissom's not _that_ old." The three of them shared a laugh at that. "I was in college, at a school called Harvard. Grissom was there to teach a class for a day."

"Cool." Lindsey seemed to lose interest, unzipping her backpack and pulling out a Walkman.

"Well, we've been dismissed," Catherine commented wryly as Lindsey's earphoned head bobbed in time with unheard music.

Sara looked into the backseat. "That's normal, though." Her voice sounded uncertain as she continued, "Right?"

Catherine chuckled as she pulled into the parking lot and stopped the Tahoe in an RV spot. "Normal, even if it makes me grind my teeth. She listens to that thing at dinner, too, and then gives me attitude when I tell her to take the headphones off."

"You have time for family dinners?" Sara asked. "With all the overtime?"

Turning off the car, Catherine grabbed the McDonald's bag. "As often as I can." She grimaced and met Sara's eyes. "Not as often as I'd like. I considered a change to days, but…it would be just as bad and the only time I'd see Linds was while she slept."

Sara almost shook her head at that answer. Family dinners. Catherine sounded like she enjoyed them. Hell, she even considered turning her life around so she could have more of them. "You'd have a better chance at recognition, a promotion on days," she remarked quietly as she hopped out of the vehicle. "Days gets all the press."

She watched Catherine help Lindsey to the ground and smiled as the little girl dashed off toward an open picnic table under one of the few trees in the huge park.

"No. The last thing I want is 'press," Catherine responded.

"Why?" Catherine would look good in front of the camera, and she had enough confidence not to fold under the glare of the public eye.

They walked through the grass, and Catherine shrugged. "I'm not looking for a lot of attention. I love what I do. Plus," from the wry smile on her face, Sara figured this was closer to the actual truth, "I'd hate for some enterprising reporter to uncover my 'sinful' past as a dancer. Lindsey deserves better than pictures of her topless mother on the evening news."

Sara dropped the subject as they joined a bouncing Lindsey at the table. Everyone concentrated on eating, and Sara listened idly to her companions discuss commonplace events and family friends. This was so different. Playing with the remains of her salad, she snuck glances at Lindsey.

Whatever, or whoever, she was talking about had her animated. Her blue eyes sparkled and she grinned at Catherine. She waved a French fry to make a point.

She had to leave. Sara felt the bright and beautiful day closing in. "I'll…I'll be right back." Dropping her fork on the table, she bolted. Her long legs ate up the ground between the picnic area and a climbing wall at the far edge of the park. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

_Damn it. Why now? _Her past was far removed from this bright, hot day. Although Sara had beaten back the outward signs of the panic attacks, the internal ones descended with a vengeance. Her mouth was dry; her head pounded. Worse, she felt the almost physical click as her emotions disconnected.

Her shoulders hunched automatically, and her arms crossed over her stomach. Sara closed her eyes tightly, fighting back sudden nausea.

"Hey, you alright?" Lindsey's cheerful voice chirped at her elbow.

Lost in memories and mood, Sara spun around, eyes flying open. "Why are you here?" she snapped. She regretted it immediately.

Lindsey lower lip quivered, and tears stood in her eyes. "M-Mom wanted me to make sure you were OK," she quavered.

"I'm fine." No, she wasn't, but Lindsey didn't need to hear that. This was her afternoon with Catherine. Sara was an interloper on their free day.

The liquid welling in Lindsey's eyes didn't disappear.

Stifling a sigh, Sara hunched even farther, but managed to dredge up a small smile. "I'm sorry, Lindsey." She decided on a partial truth, and an appeal to every young girl's Achilles' heel. "Can you keep a secret?"

Lindsey nodded. "Of course," she swore fervently.

Sara bet herself twenty dollars it took Lindsey until she got back to the table (and Catherine) to spill her guts. "I have a headache."

Those blue eyes regarded her steadily, seeming to ask, _And?_.

"And," Sara answered the imagined question, "I didn't want to ruin your day. If your mom knew I wasn't feeling so good, she'd take us home, wouldn't she?"

Nodding rapidly in agreement, Lindsey whispered, "Oh, yeah. And she'd make you lay down and take a nap, too."

"We don't want that, Lindsey." Sara ignored the chisel chipping at her skull and wrapped an arm around Lindsey's shoulders. "So you won't tell your mom, and we can stay and enjoy the afternoon."

"I won't. I promise." Lindsey's smile seemed to take up her whole face.

Sara smiled back, the expression far more genuine this time. "Good. Why don't you go play, and I'll just stay here for a few minutes, see if I can start feeling better?"

She didn't expect the tight hug and the whispered, "I'm sorry you don't feel good."

Staring dazedly after Lindsey, Sara felt warm where small arms and a tiny body had pressed. "Thanks, Lindsey," she mumbled, even though the little girl couldn't hear her.

Catherine cleaned up the trash from their lunch before heading after Sara herself. She'd seen Lindsey dash off, smiling, from the direction Sara had taken. Hopefully, that meant things were OK.

She found Sara leaning against the low wooden fence surrounding the climbing wall. Deliberately scuffling her feet on the path so she didn't startle Sara, Catherine joined her at the fence. "Lindsey find you?" she asked softly, even though she knew the answer.

"Yeah," Sara confirmed. A slow smiled tugged her lips. "She's a cool kid."

Catherine chuckled. Sara seemed surprised by that fact. "She can be," she allowed. "Of course, don't make up your mind until you've tried to get her to go to bed on time. If you can still say she's cool then, I'll let you take over that duty."

The small smile grew to a gap-toothed grin. "Maybe I'll wait on that. You know, until she's older…"

"Next year?" Catherine teased. "Or when she's twenty?" She grinned at Sara's laughter. "I see…I'm onto you, Sara Sidle. Just for that, I'll tell Lindsey you want to read her a bedtime story before shift tomorrow."


	15. Chapter 15

Sara's look of pure panic was priceless. Throwing back her head, Catherine laughed. She kept laughing even after Sara started pelting her with pieces of bark from the flower bed at the side of the path. "Your face…" she gasped. "You should have seen your face."

"I read forensic journals, Cath." More bark flew her way. "Not children's books." Sara's voice was wry. "If you want me to explain how to estimate the path a killer took from the blood spatter evidence, I'm your girl."

Wiping tears from her eyes, Catherine managed to regain her self control. "Maybe in ten years or so. Right now, we're more concerned with what Olivia will do next."

Sara started walking down the path, and Catherine followed.

"Who's Olivia, your dog?" Sara asked.

Enjoying the opportunity to tease, Catherine murmured, "Not dog. Pig."

She had trouble keeping a straight face when Sara jerked to a stop and spun to stare at her. "You have a _pet pig_?"

Catherine's peal of laughter garnered them a lot of looks and smiles. "God, Sara…" Staggering to a bench, Catherine dropped onto it. "I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

"Anything to make your life more enjoyable, Cath." Sara chuckled and sat beside her. "And…it's been a while since I enjoyed a day at the park like this. We're even."

Shoulders touching companionably, they sat there for a few minutes. Catherine felt her eyes starting to drift closed. The warm sun mixed with birdsong and the shouts of kids and adults. Almost three days on the clock. Only a handful of cat naps.

The noise faded slowly, hanging just at the edge of awareness.

Sara watched Catherine's head bob with a smile. If she played her cards right, she'd find out if Catherine snored or drooled – and get it all on her camera phone for later use. The phone was in her hand, waiting for the perfect moment –

The shrill beeping of their pagers ruined the moment.

Catherine jackknifed erect, hand dropping to her belt.

Griping under her breath about Grissom's timing, Sara yanked hers off her belt and peered at the screen. "Looks like trace has something on your dirt. They need us back at the lab."

"Bye, Mom! Bye, Sara!" Lindsey waved at them before sprinting for the front door of the house.

Sara watched her go. "Do you always feel like all the energy's been sucked out of your day when she leaves?"

Catherine backed out of the drive before answering. "I'm usually so tired, it all just blurs together." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "She's used to me falling asleep on her – like I was about to do to you at the park."

"Yeah, I was actually looking forward to that." Grinning, she waved her phone. "How much do you think Nick and Warrick would give me for shots of Sleeping Catherine?"

Eyes narrowing, Catherine intoned, "Careful, Sara. I'm a CSI. If I kill you, I'd know all the tricks. They'd never even find your body."

"Sure they would. Grissom wouldn't rest until he found me." Sara wiggled in the seat belt until she managed to turn and lean against the passenger door. "He'd be out in the desert with an infrared scanner."

"With a line of cadets two miles long," Catherine finished. Traffic clogged the road, and she fell silent as she concentrated on driving.

Sara settled against the door, letting Catherine drive. The silence didn't last long, however.

Voice barely audible over the road noise, Catherine asked, "Are you sure you're OK moving in with me and Linds? You seemed a little stiff with her at the school."

Damn. Sara shifted into a more traditional seat, facing the dashboard. "I haven't spent a lot of time around people her age." She didn't say anything else, waiting stiffly for the next question.

"Yeah, little people can be scary." The Tahoe's turn signal clicked rhythmically as Catherine waited at a traffic light before turning left.

It couldn't be that easy, could it? Sara hoped so.

Her hopes were dashed as Catherine continued, "It seemed like more than that, though."

Sara kept her face expressionless, though her right leg started to bounce. "Sorry, Cath. No big mystery. I suffer from pedophobia, that's all," she joked.

Catherine didn't believe Sara's jocular tone – or her explanation. She'd have to save her questions for later, though. Pulling into the lab, she turned off the engine and grabbed her purse. "Well, Lindsey and I will do our best to help you over your fear of children, Sara."

"How much do you charge for therapy?" Sara hopped out of the vehicle. "I'm trying to save money, remember?"

"We'll work out some kind of payment plan," Catherine shot back, watching Sara closely. The relaxation from the park was markedly missing. The younger woman had her hands stuffed in her pockets, and she hadn't looked in her direction since Catherine had broached the subject. "In the meantime, I'm sure Greg is ready to give us a lesson in dirt."

It was Grissom, though, and not Greg, who gave them their lecture. "See those gold flecks?" he asked.

Catherine bent over the microscope, peering through the lens. Bright gold shapes broke up the scattered mass of brown and grey. "Yeah. What are they? Some kind of reflective paint?" She stood and motioned for Sara to have a look.

"No." Grissom sounded disappointed, as if she should have known the answer. "They're gold. And the little grey squiggles?"

She was glad when Sara responded to this query. After all, Sara had been Grissom's star pupil. "Some kind of mineral? Will it help us pinpoint the missing wife?"

Her hunch had been right. Grissom beamed as Sara straightened. "Cyanide."

"You're thinking the kidnapper poisoned the wife?" Catherine leaned against a table and watched Sara light up as she questioned Grissom. "Why the ransom demand, then?"

Oops. Sara fell off the Good Girl Wagon. Grissom frowned, tapping his glasses on his lips. "Not poison." He picked up a map resting on the lab table. "Did you know Nevada produces over eighty percent of the country's gold?"

It was time to derail Grissom or they'd be there all night and still not know what cyanide had to do with their case. "Gil, get to the point." Catherine ignored the double glare she got for interrupting the lesson. "Where did the cyanide come from and why is it important?" She did a little glaring of her own. "Without the history lesson, please."

"It's possible Mrs. Garris is being held in an abandoned gold mine," Grissom said in clipped tones.

Sara met Catherine's eyes and grimaced. "And there's what? Hundreds of gold mines in Nevada?"

"More." He was amused again. Catherine noticed the smile twitching his lips. "If you two hadn't disappeared so fast this morning, you would have heard the ransom tape." He waited, but neither Catherine nor Sara rushed to apologize. "It has buzzing in the background – power lines."

He spread a map of Las Vegas out onto the lab table, and Catherine joined Sara in looking over his shoulder.

"So, we just need to find mines in the area near power lines." More interested now, Catherine traced a finger over the heavily detailed map. "I see…three." She pointed to three red dots. The irony of the situation was too great. Catherine laughed shortly and said, "It looks like you were right, Sara."

"How's that?" Sara crossed her arms, head tilted.

Catherine waved at the map. "I think Grissom's about to visit the desert with his infrared camera."

A gap-toothed grin appeared. "At least it's not me he'll be looking for."

"I beg your pardon?" Grissom asked. "Why would I be searching for Sara?"

Patting his shoulder, Catherine moved toward the door. "Inside joke, Gil. Let it go. I'll give Brass a call, get the SO on alert."

Brass answered his cell phone in a voice so quiet, Catherine plugged her left ear with a finger. "Brass."

"Hey, Jim. It's Catherine. We've got a lead on the wife." She found herself whispering, too, even though she was sitting in an empty lab.

"Good. I'm at the Desert Pines Practice Center." He coughed and Catherine heard a rustle as he shifted. "The ransom is set to go off any minute. Any chance we can find Mrs. Garris before the husband gives away their life savings?"

A knock sounded at the lab door. "Hang on, Jim. Sara's here." He said something Catherine didn't understand as she pulled the phone away from her ear. "What do you have?"

"Grissom's got the helicopter standing by. We'll be in the air in a few minutes." Sara was flushed and grinning with excitement.

"Jim's at the ransom sight. Let me fill him in and I'll monitor you on the radio. Tell Gil I'll have paramedics and deputies on the ground near your location. If you find her, she might need medical attention." Sara ducked out and Catherine went back to her phone conversation. "Did you get that, Jim?"

"Yeah. Make the call – straight to the Undersheriff. He'll have to authorize the chase cars." His voice trailed off at the end and Catherine heard the crackle of a radio. "Cath, I gotta go. There's a suspect in sight." The call ended abruptly.


	16. Chapter 16

"Sara?" Catherine shouted into the handset before releasing the mic button.

Static crackled over the radio. "Go ahead." It might have been Sara. It was hard to tell.

"You've got EMS and Deputies on the ground at your location." Hesitating, Catherine debated passing on the next bit of information she'd gotten during her call to the Undersheriff. "Let Gil know there's a press conference underway right now. They just took a suspect into custody on the kidnapping."

There was a long pause, and Catherine considered trying again. Reception in the desert was always uncertain. Before she could rekey the mic, though, she heard Gil's excited voice. "Go back. I thought I saw something."

Sitting forward in her chair, Catherine strained to sort out the voices and the gist of the rest of the radio traffic.

"There! Do you see that?" Gil was still shouting.

Static fuzzed the next bit out. It cleared up in time for Sara's, "…under the surface. Set her down! Set her down right now!"

As soon as the chopper touched down, Sara leaped onto the hard ground. The blades mixed with the bright spotlight, creating a surreal strobe effect. Blinking against the flying debris kicked up by the helicopter, Sara ran after Grissom. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. We should be almost on top of her," he shouted back. "Start over there." Grissom pointed into the dark desert. "Look for signs of recent disturbance." He turned away, trotting crouched over in the opposite direction.

Sara had taken only a few steps when a primal scream spun her around. Head whipping back and forth, she tried to locate its direction.

"Help me! Please!" This time the voice was more defined.

"Sara! I think it's coming from over here." Grissom was on his hands and knees, digging through the dirt and gravel.

Sprinting across the spotlit area, Sara joined him. For every handful of dirt she moved, the still beating helicopter blades blew half of it back into place. What felt like hours passed. Arms trembling from strain, Sara kept digging. On the next pass, her hand banged against something that rang hollowly. "Grissom, I've got something." Pushing aching muscles to the limit, she scrabbled through the soil.

More hands joined in as the chase vehicles caught up and EMS personnel flooded the area. In minutes, the additional diggers unearthed a wooden box

Catherine knocked softly on the doorframe of the hospital room. "Mr. and Mrs. Garris?"

Two heads turned in her direction. "Yes?" Jack Garris asked brusquely. The harsh hospital lighting turned what Catherine supposed was tanned skin sallow.

"I'm Catherine Willows from the Crime Lab. I'm here to ask your wife some questions." As Garris started to object, Catherine moved quickly into the room, hand outstretched. J

Jack Garris shook it automatically.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your wife's rest, but it's best to take statements before the memories start to fade." She smiled charmingly then turned her attention to the battered woman in the bed. "Mrs. Garris, I know this has been a difficult time. Could you tell me everything you remember since last night?"

"It's not much." Voice husky, Laura Garris began her tale. "I was in the hallway when someone grabbed me from behind."

Listening intently, Catherine made some notes in her notebook.

"He put…he put something over my mouth," Laura continued. She pressed trembling fingers to cracked lips.

Catherine's gaze zeroed in on her fingers. The nails were chipped, completely torn in some places. The damage was from trying to claw her way out of the box, probably. However, despite their current state, the nails were long. "Mrs. Garris," Catherine interrupted, voice deliberately low key, "did you grab the man's arms, fight to get away?" If so, those nails would have marked her assailant's arms.

"Of course." Catherine fought to keep from reacting to the defensive response. "I fought for a few seconds, but whatever he put over my mouth…He must have drugged me. I don't remember anything after that. Not until I woke up…" Laura Garris seemed to shrink into the bed at the memory.

"She's been through enough." Jack sprang to his feet, hand stroking his wife's hair. "Can't this wait?"

It could, yes. Catherine knew, however, that with a suspect in custody, the evidence and Laura's information would be a vital part in the arrest process. "Just a few more questions," she pressed, ignoring the glare from both of the Garisses. "How did you get that bruise on your eye?"

"I don't remember." Shifting in the bed, Laura Garris looked away.

Catherine focused more intently on her reactions. Mrs. Garris was lying. Why? "Do you remember anything? A sound? A smell? Did your attacker say anything to you?" She fired questions at Laura, hoping to rattle her further.

"No." Jack Garris moved even closer to the bed, hovering over his clearly relieved wife. "That's enough. If you have more questions, you'll have to ask them another time."

"Sure," Catherine murmured. "But I'd like to get a blood sample, if you don't mind."

Her trained eyes caught Laura's look of fear before it was masked. "Why…Why would you need that?" Laure stuttered, clinging to Jack.

Smiling slightly, Catherine waved a hand at Laura. "You have scratches on your arms. If we can match it to blood traces in the suspect's truck, it will make our case that much more air tight."

"Come on, Ms. Willow, you have the guy who took my wife. Isn't that enough?" Jack demanded, voice rising.

"So far, we have very little physical evidence linking Mr. Rundle to the crime. There were no fingerprints on the duct tape and our audio techs haven't been able to make a positive voice match to the voice from the ransom call. So far, the only thing we have is his presence at the drop site."

A slender hand rose from the bed, gripping Jack's arm. "It's OK, Jack. Whatever it takes to put this guy behind bars, I'll do it," Laura vowed.

"I'll stop at the nurses' station on my way out," Catherine said before Garris could convince his wife to change her mind.

"Sara, what have you and Catherine got on the kidnapping?" Grissom leaned back in his chair, sipping from his coffee mug.

"Nothing so far." Sara rubbed the back of her neck in frustration. "The box was bare. I did manage to scrape some skin off the bottom and the lid. They're with Greg."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "We have a suspect. What about a voice match?"

"Sorry, Gil. The techs are working on it." Catherine sat at the end of the long conference table. She looked almost haggard. "Brass got a recording of Rundle's interview. I got a promise from the lab boys to call me the second they get to it." Yawning suddenly, Catherine waved a hand in apology.

"I've got the suspect's truck in the garage. Cath and I are heading there next to process it. Maybe we'll get lucky." Sara grinned mirthlessly. "For an amateur kidnapping," she shot a wry look at Catherine, "we've got almost no concrete physical evidence.

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in." Catherine narrowed her eyes, pointing a finger at Sara. "Just remember…push too far, and I make you tuck Lindsey in every night for a week."

Laughing, Sara stood up. "You're all bark and no bite. I've got your number. Lindsey told me all your secrets," she lied. "Come on, Meanie Mom, we've got a car to search." She hustled down the hallway, listening to Catherine's footsteps chasing after her.

"You know, Gil's eyes almost popped out of his head back there." Catherine caught up, long legs matching Sara stride for stride. "Forget about the case. He's going to spend all night trying to figure out how you know Linds and why reading her a story would be a threat."

Sara could just see her new boss doing just that. "Well, as long as it keeps him out of our hair…" She let her words trail off as they entered the large bay. A red pickup sat under the bright lights. "Where do you want to start?" Sara got back to business, studying the gleaming vehicle from the doorway.

"Take the cab. I'll do the exterior." Catherine accepted the change in topic with a companionable hand on Sara's arm.

Stripped down to her tank top in deference to the stifling heat in the garage, Sara sighed in frustration. Nothing. There were no clues to definitively tie Rundle to the crime. "You got anything, Cath?" she called hopefully as she dropped into the passenger seat and rested her head on the sheepskin seat cover.

"You're joking, right?" Sara had to smile at the wry bite in Catherine's voice. "This baby's been wiped clean. Detailed, polished – it's in show room condition."

Sara wiggled impatiently in the seat. How were they going to make the case against the suspect? Placing her hands on her thighs, she rotated her neck – and froze. "Cath!  
It came out sharp and demanding. "Come here for a minute."

Footsteps echoed in quick time. "You OK?"

"Well, I'll be better when you tie me up," Sara answered, not really paying attention to her words.

Her head snapped up, though, when Catherine whistled softly and said, "Wow. The things I learn about you get better and better. Issues with kids and now a bondage fetish. Anything else I should know?"


	17. Chapter 17

Face burning in embarrassment, Sara tried to glare at a madly grinning Catherine. Her lips twitched, though, at the older woman's expression. "Let's stay focused on the job, Cath. I think I've figured this out."

Catherine relented. "Just this once, I'll let you off the hook," she announced. "Next time, I'm getting an answer to the question." Stepping back from the open truck door, Catherine retrieved a roll of duct tape from the tool kit a few feet away. She strode back, leaning toward Sara. As she grabbed Sara's wrists, her shoulder brushed the front of Sara's shirt.

Sara jerked in response – then prayed Catherine didn't notice the two very visible peaks tenting the front of her shirt.

Green eyes stared up at her.

Still frozen in the seat, Sara choked out, "What?"

The eyes rolled. "Give me your hands," Catherine demanded.

* * *

Leaning back a little, Catherine wrapped the tape around Sara's wrists. Carefully avoiding brushing against Sara again, she steadfastly ignored the nipples on display. "So what does the tape tell us?" Catherine asked, curious – and trying to give Sara a chance to regain her composure.

Turning until she sat correctly in the seat, Sara took a noticeably deep breath before elaborating. "When we collected evidence from Laura Garris, we found traces of sheepskin on the backs of her arms and her shirt."

"So she was in the front seat," Catherine interrupted impatiently. She'd read the lab report, too. "We knew that."

"We did." Sara turned her head, dark eyes intent. "I think we made some really bad assumptions, though." She held up her hands for Catherine to see. "I'm bound, just the way we found Mrs. Garris. Watch." Lowering her hands to her lap, she looked at Catherine.

"I'm watching. What am I supposed to see?" Catherine snapped. She'd been on duty too long to play guessing games.

Sara's sigh reminded Catherine of Grissom when he was doing one of his 'learning experiences.' "What part of me is touching the seat?" Sara asked.

Still not understanding, Catherine took a couple of steps back and studied the scene. "Just your shoulders." She frowned. Why was that important?

"Exactly." Sara nodded in agreement. "If Laura was sitting like we thought, there would have been no trace on her arms."

Catherine's mind raced. She'd thought Mrs. Garris had been lying when she'd taken her statement "She wasn't tied." Walking to the open truck door, she leaned her forehead on the top of the frame. "God, how did we miss this?"

"On the surface, it looked like a standard kidnapping," Sara said, voice mocking.

From her close position, Catherine noticed the grin that accompanied the words. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Just remember," she reminded Sara, tongue in cheek, "I'm the one with the scissors."

She grunted when Sara's bound hands smacked into her stomach.

"More cutting, less talking. We need to let Grissom know so I can get you home to read to Lindsey. I'm not ready to throw caution to the winds." Although Sara looked a little tense, she smiled shyly.

"We'll consider tonight your break in period." Catherine raised the scissors and cut through the bulky tape. "I'll introduce you to Olivia and let you settle in before you start your new duties." She winked and stepped back.

Sara groaned and slid out of the truck. "I still can't believe you have a pet pig."

Waiting for Sara to close the truck door, Catherine just grinned.

"OK. Let's go give Grissom a new puzzle to work on." Donning her over shirt, Sara led the way out of the garage. "I'll deliver the news. Why don't you grab your stuff and get the Tahoe cooled off?"

As usual, Sara was moving too fast. "Don't you want to hang around? Watch your mentor in action?" Catherine asked curiously.

"Nah. I'm here for good now. I'm sure I'll have plenty of chances to watch Grissom think." Grinning, Sara picked up her pace, leaving Catherine staring bemusedly after her.

* * *

An hour later, Catherine parked the Tahoe in the drive and looked tiredly over at Sara. "Home sweet home," she announced. "Let's get your bags. Lindsey should still be awake, so we won't have to worry about waking her up."

Sara simply nodded and hopped out. She'd been quiet, almost reserved, since leaving the lab.

Together, they dragged the luggage to the front door. Catherine didn't even bother fumbling for her house key. She rang the bell. Footsteps pounded inside and the door wrenched open. "Mommy!"

"Hey, Linds." The body wrapped monkey-like around her legs meant Catherine stayed where she was. "Sara and I are really tired, baby. You think you could let us inside?"

Lindsey giggled. "Sure. Aunt Nancy was just getting ready to read me a story. Can you do it since you're home?"

Briefly, Catherine considered telling Lindsey that Sara had volunteered. No. She didn't want to push. A quick glance at the younger woman showed Sara pale and tensed a few feet behind her. "I'd be glad to." Her legs were now monkey-free, so she staggered inside. "Why don't you climb into bed, and I'll be there in a minute?"

"OK." Beaming, Lindsey hugged her again before bestowing an equally hard hug on Sara. Then, in a second roar of thundering feet, she disappeared upstairs.

Starting down the hallway to their right, Catherine yawned. "God, I'm tired. Gil's going to regret giving us tomorrow off. When all hell breaks loose and he calls, I'm pretending not to hear the phone."

"You wouldn't," Sara announced disbelievingly.

"Watch and learn." They reached the guest bedroom. "If you aren't careful, you'll wake up one day and realize you haven't been off in six months. Even if there isn't a new case, Gil will find a way to call you in. A new piece of equipment. A conference. Some personal lesson on the stages of the South African whatever bug."

Dropping her suitcase onto the floor just inside the large room, Sara nodded. "Got it. Phones and days off don't go together." She stood next to the abandoned bag, staring blankly at the bed.

"Is…is the room OK?" Catherine hadn't even thought about that. It was bigger than most hotel rooms and had an en suite bathroom. "Sara?" she prodded when there was no answer.

* * *

"The room's fine, Cath. Sorry. I think I just dozed off with my eyes open." Sara flashed a smile. "I don't know how you're even still upright." Forcing herself forward, she grabbed the comforter and pulled it from under the pillows. "Some rest in a room where I don't hear the ice maker all night and I'll be fine."

"No ice makers here." Catherine turned, heading for the hallway. "Good night, Sara."

Sara hesitated a second, debating with herself. It wasn't really a huge issue. It wasn't. "Cath?"

"Yeah?" Sara heard the exhaustion in Catherine's husky voice.

"Thanks for inviting me." It wasn't what she meant to say. Wiggling a little, Sara tried again. "Um…About Olivia," she started, nervous about the family pet wandering into her room in the middle of the night. "Can she open doors?"

Catherine stared at her. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"

"No, of course not." Sara turned away, smoothing and then plumping the pillows. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"Sara…" Catherine's voice trailed off in a huge yawn. "Are you up for a trip to Lindsey's room?" Her voice got louder with each word, and then a hand dropped on Sara's shoulder. "Let me show you Olivia. You'll be able to sleep better once you see her, I promise."

Still holding the pillow, Sara turned. "I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" She certainly felt like one.

"Maybe just a little." Smiling, Catherine pulled the pillow out of Sara's hand. "I'm the one that got this all started, though. In the end, it's all my fault. Come on. Let me ease your mind. I don't know how much longer I can stay upright."

* * *

Not waiting for Sara's answer, Catherine left the room and started for the stairs. She regretted the offhand comment about the little pig. Poor Sara. This wasn't going to go well. At the second-floor landing, she turned left, away from her own room.

Lindsey was sitting in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals. "Hey, sweetie. I mentioned Olivia to Sara at the park. Could you get her for us?" Catherine asked, sitting next to her daughter.

"Sure, Mommy." Scrambling out of bed, Lindsey moved to a small bookcase on the far wall. Tiny fingers caressed the spines as she peered at the titles. She finally found what she was looking for. Pulling a slim volume from the lower shelf she skipped to Sara. "Here she is, Sara."

Face blank, Sara took the book.

"I told you not to worry about her getting into your room," Catherine couldn't resist saying into the suddenly quiet room. Grinning, she waited for Sara to say something.

Brown eyes slowly lifted.

Catherine's grin faded.

"When I'm through with you," Sara intoned softly, "they'll never even find the pieces." Without another word, she strode out of the room.

A/N: Olivia is a real (story) pig. She can be found in bookstores near you. Her creator's name is Ian Falconer.


	18. Chapter 18

"Mommy, did you make Sara mad?" Catherine winced at the accusation in Lindsey's voice.

Out of the mouths of babes. "It looks that way, Linds," she answered. Sighing, Catherine scooted up the bed, wrapping an arm around her daughter and resting her back against the headboard.

Lindsey peered up at her, frown firmly in place. "You need to apologize, Mommy."

Catherine picked up a stuffed animal, pressing its soft nose against Lindsey's freckled face. "I will." Just as soon as she thought it was safe to do so. While she wasn't taking Sara's final comment seriously, Catherine wanted to avoid an argument.

Tiny arms wrapped over a thin chest. "Mommy…"

Meeting the blue-eyed stare, Catherine bowed her head. "I will. I promise." She kissed Lindsey's cheek and hugged her tightly. "When did you get so grown up, huh? I'm going to have to work harder so we both know who's the mommy."

She closed her eyes and smiled when soft lips pressed into her cheek. "Love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, Lindsey." A yawn garbled the name, and Catherine sat up. "Now, if you want a story, you need to grab another book. Sara took Olivia with her, and I'm about to curl up here next to you and go to sleep."

"I don't need a story, Mommy." Lindsey patted the mattress. "Having you home is better."

Blinking back tears, Catherine stood up and pulled back the blankets covering Lindsey. "Being here with you is the best, baby." Before she climbed between the sheets, Catherine flicked off the bedside light. The warmth and softness of the bed drew a groan. Holding Lindsey to her chest, she let herself relax.

* * *

Sara made it all the way back to her room before laughing. God, she'd been an idiot. Of course Catherine wouldn't have a pet pig. Standing at the foot of her bed, she looked at the book in her hands. "Olivia," Sara read out loud. "Well, Olivia, you and I need to get acquainted."

Tossing the book onto the bed, Sara lugged her clothing suitcase to the closet and quickly unpacked. Shorts and a T-shirt in hand, she wandered into the small bathroom to wash up and change. Now ready to unwind a little before sleeping, she climbed into bed and picked up the book, "OK, pig, show me what you've got."

Sara started to read. As she turned the pages, she chuckled as Olivia sang her loud songs and cringed as the little pig's redecorated the living room. Fifteen minutes later, Sara closed the book and shook her head. If Lindsey was anything like Olivia, Catherine was in trouble. More than that, Sara knew exactly how she was going to pay Catherine back for her joke.

* * *

The house was quiet as Sara searched for the kitchen. Too quiet. Didn't kids make a lot of noise? Sara's mouth went dry at the thought of meeting Lindsey unexpectedly. She relaxed marginally when she reached the safety of the large, airy kitchen without seeing Catherine's daughter. The room was empty. An upended bowl dried in the drain tray, accompanied by a single spoon and juice glass.

Maybe her fears were fruitless. Maybe the dishes belonged to Lindsey. Sara padded to the refrigerator and pulled a gallon of orange juice from the door pocket. It took far longer to locate a glass in the many cabinets lining the wall. Finally, though, she stood at the sink, admiring the small backyard through the small window and sipped her drink.

A wry smile tilted her lips. The house…Lindsey…it was so surreal. Sara's eyes slid down to the bowl and glass in the drain. Neat and tidy. Just the way _her _mother had always demanded.

The bright, white bowl in Catherine's kitchen flickered. The image of another bowl overlay it. Sara fought the change. No. _No!_ Despite her inner struggle, Sara lost touch with the here and now. The clean and modern lines of Catherine's cabinetry and appliances faded, replaced with dull, chipped laminate.

Loud voices filtered into the once silent room. The words were unclear. Their anger was not. No longer standing at the sink, Sara sat at a scarred kitchen table. She stared into the bowl of cereal in front of her. Trying to ignore the argument going on the living room, Sara took a bite of the soggy cereal.

For just an instant, Sara saw the sunshine through Catherine's kitchen window. _It's not happening. Not now. It was a long time ago_, she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she pushed at the memory, muscles aching from the strain. It didn't work.

One of the voices from the other room cried out in pain, and Sara jumped, her spoon falling back into the bowl.

Giving up on breakfast, Sara quickly poured out the remaining mixture of milk and rice puffs and rinsed the bowl. The voices were getting louder. Closer. Her hands shook as she dried the bowl and thrust it into a cabinet with the others. Everything had to be neat. It had to be perfect before her mother came in. Breathing in shallow gasps, Sara scanned the kitchen. Just one more task, and she could run upstairs and hide. Turning back to the table, Sara grabbed her empty milk glass.

"Sara!" Her mother called.

Barely stifling a scream, Sara spun around, the glass slipping from her fingers. It shattered on the floor…

Still shaking, Sara stared at the glass shards littering the wood floor. Wood. Not vinyl. Heart pounding, she looked up and met Catherine's worried stare.

"Don't move. I'll get the broom and dustpan," Catherine commanded just before she disappeared into the pantry.

The order was easy to follow. Rocked by the memory and Catherine's sudden arrival, Sara stood frozen in place. Nausea cramped her stomach, the orange juice threatening to reappear. Swallowing convulsively, Sara sucked in a slow breath and held it…one, two, three seconds…then let it out. She repeated the gesture until Catherine came back.

"You didn't cut yourself, did you?" the other woman asked. She carefully swept the bits of glass into a neat pile. Sara saw her shooting concerned glances her way. "Sara?"

Sara finally realized she hadn't answered the question. She didn't, in fact, _know_ the answer. Holding out her arms, Sara scanned them. Nothing. She moved on to her feet and legs. "No. I'm fine, Cath. Thanks." The words came out in a staccato rhythm.

Catherine didn't say anything for a moment. Keeping her eyes on the broken pieces of glass, she meticulously cleaned the kitchen floor. "OK. Just checking," she eventually said.

Flushing at the disbelief in Catherine's words, Sara repeated defensively, "I'm fine." Not sure her trembling legs would continue to hold her, she placed her palms flat on the counter at her back and jumped to sit on the cool marble surface.

* * *

Not wanting to set Sara off, Catherine didn't press for more. "Did you find everything OK or would you like me to fix something? According to Linds, my pancakes are the bomb." She grinned at Sara and stood.

"Ah…I don't want you to go out of your way. I'm not really a guest." Sara looked pale and uncomfortable at her offer. Her eyes darted frantically around the room and her feet swung restlessly.

"No trouble," Catherine assured her as she walked back to the pantry and dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash. Setting aside the broom, she closed the pantry door. "I have to eat, too. Pancakes, then?" Her stomach rumbled at just the thought.

The irritated noise garnered a real smile from Sara. "How can I argue with that? Sounds like your stomach has already made up its mind."

With a chuckle, Catherine poked Sara's side on her way past.

Sara shied away at the contact.

Holding her hand palm outward, Catherine signaled her withdrawal. "I know what I want, Sara," she murmured, watching the other woman closely. Something was obviously wrong. Lindsey? Olivia? "You better speak up if you don't want the same thing."

Sara's grin widened, showing the tiny gap between her front teeth. She appeared to be recovering from…whatever. "Hmmm, I guess you're not a Libra then."

"No, all that fairness and equality…" Picking up the teasing thread, Catherine shuddered dramatically. "I might make the wrong decision, but at least I _make_ a decision." She reached into a cabinet and pulled down a large mixing bowl and measuring cups. "It gets me into trouble. A lot," Catherine admitted.

The bowl went on the island in the center of the kitchen. Getting the water required moving closer to Sara. Catherine considered options as she did so.

Sara stared at the floor between her feet, lips vibrating lightly as if she were humming to herself.

Now was as good a time as any. "Speaking of trouble…" Her voice trailed off as she turned on the tap in the sink. "I'm sorry about the pig thing," Catherine continued, turning her head to look at Sara.

Slowly raising her eyes, Sara looked back. "Trying to avoid some payback?" Narrow eyebrows wiggled. "You're too late for that. Maybe you should think before making those decisions."

"I'm too old to change now." Catherine turned off the water and carefully carried the liquid back to her mixing bowl. She poured in the pancake mix and grabbed a whisk from the utensil caddy. "If it helps at all, I never intended the joke to go so far. We were at the park; you made an assumption…"

"I'd just freaked out over your daughter, Cath. Couldn't you cut me a break?" Two soft thuds announced Sara's move from the counter.

Biting back a grin at the near-whine in Sara's voice, Catherine shook her head. "Nope. Not my style. I have a seven-year old daughter. It's strike first, or get steamrolled." The batter was smooth. Time to make pancakes. Striding to the stove, Catherine asked, "Will it help you get used to my kid if I make the pancakes into letters and numbers?"

"You do what you have to, Cath." Sara's voice was close.

Catherine jerked in surprise when a pair of hands gripped the oven door handle, and Sara's arms bracketed her body.

The husky voice drifted down as Sara continued, "Just keep in mind: so will I."


	19. Chapter 19

The spatula Catherine had been clutching clattered to the stove top. "Sara?" Her voice squeaked out. "What…what are you doing?"

"Making sure you're paying attention, Cath." Sara's arms – and warm body – moved away. "I don't like when people don't realize I'm threatening them."

Catherine cleared her throat and tried to unobtrusively cross her arms over suddenly hard nipples. "Threats? Before breakfast?" She tried to get herself back under control. "Didn't you make one last night, too? Something about them not finding my body?"

"See? That's my point." Sara sounded aggrieved. "People never take me seriously. I'm a professional. If I decide to dismember you after we eat, you should respect my skills."

Turning the pancakes in the skillet, Catherine rolled her eyes. She'd gotten all wound up over this? Sara's mood swings and on again, off again personal space problems were worse than Lindsey's tantrums. At least she generally knew what triggered those. "I respect your skills." She glanced down at the peaks slowly fading under her robe. "More than you probably realize."

"Good," Sara commented. She reappeared briefly to Catherine's right, digging through cabinets. "I'll set the table." A grin flashed. "As soon as I find the plates."

"Hmmm, real plates and company for breakfast. I may never recover," Catherine answered. "I can't remember the last time that happened. When I do manage to eat with Linds, she wolfs down her cereal and bolts for the door."

More cabinets opened and closed. Catherine resisted the urge to help out. Sara was more than capable of finding what she needed.

Right on cue, Sara exclaimed, "Score!" Plates clattered. "I'll make sure not to eat too fast for you, Cath. Might be hard, though. I'm usually a toast and go girl myself."

"No coffee sipping, reading the paper, discussing the day?" Catherine asked curiously. Work and one personality issue aside, she knew next to nothing about Sara.

"It's hard to discuss the day with yourself, Cath." Sara laughed softly. "Besides, I get enough coffee at work."

So…"No boyfriend?" Catherine resisted the urge to change the gender. She'd break Sara in slowly before going for the good stuff.

"No." Catherine waited, but Sara didn't elaborate. She heard glasses join the plates on the table. "Juice, milk, coffee?"

Conversations with Sara might not be so different than ones with Lindsey after all. One step forward, two back. Or no step at all. Catherine gave up her plans for subtle interrogation. She'd dig deeper as the day went on. Right now, the smell of the pancakes caused her stomach to growl. "Milk, please. I'll grab a coffee refill on my way." The last pancake slipped out of the skillet and onto the platter. "Could you grab the butter and syrup, too, please?"

Turning, she set the platter on the table and made a beeline for the coffeemaker.

* * *

Sara opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Syrup, milk, butter. All right in the door. Arms full, she took the few steps to the table and dropped her burdens. "Looks good, Cath. Thanks." She sat down and waited for the other woman to join her.

"I may not win any awards as a chef, but I can manage breakfasts." Catherine was quick to sidestep the compliment. "My mother was the real cook in the family. I don't think she's ever forgiven me for not letting her teach me more than the basics."

"My mom never tried to teach me." Eyes wide, Sara stared at the fork in her hand. What the hell was she doing? She didn't talk about her family. Ever. Trying to cover her slip, Sara stabbed the tines into a pancake and lifted it from the platter to her plate. She avoided looking at Catherine as she buttered the still-steaming food.

Catherine took her own turn at the platter. "Well, your mom probably didn't spend her entire life waiting for her lover to come home." Scorn oozed from the soft words. "Mother had a thing for one of the up and coming casino owners here in town, Sam Braun. Sam was…is, in her mind, the love of her life. I swear she didn't buy anything or cook anything without wondering if he would approve."

Sara's hand tightened around the butter knife. They had to change the subject before she said too much or another attack manifested. Already, her chest was tight and her hands shaking. "You got any plans for later?" she blurted out.

She could tell Catherine was confused by the abrupt change. "Uh…" Catherine stammered. "I need to do a little shopping and cleaning. Normal household chores. Did you need to borrow the car?"

"Just the phone." Sara forced her hand to unclench from the knife and stuck it back in the butter tub. She could do this. Breakfast didn't have to end with another flashback. Sweat turned her clothes into a clammy, sticky mess. "I need to call my boss. Well," she corrected, "my now ex-boss and share the news."

Catherine was watching her closely; however, she didn't comment on anything she might be picking up. Instead, she chuckled. "Is he anything like Gil?"

"No." Just the thought of comparing Frank with Grissom helped Sara relax further. "He's not nearly so clinical. In fact, you might hear him yelling when I call. He warned me not to fall for Grissom's lines when I left. I was supposed to do the case and come back. End of story."

"Looks like the story got a new plot." Catherine raised her glass in a mock toast. "What about your things?"

Frowning, Sara tried to figure out what Catherine meant.

"Your clothes and personal items?" Catherine clarified with a raised brow.

"Oh." Rubbing her face with her left hand, Sara struggled to pull herself together. "Yeah, I guess one suitcase of clothes won't be enough, huh?" Her mind moved sluggishly, trying to keep up with the conversation.

A warm hand gripped her wrist. "Hey, are you OK?" Catherine asked softly.

For once, Sara didn't shy away from the touch. It felt good. Solid and supportive. "Getting there," she answered truthfully. The press of memories faded slowly. Taking a deep breath, Sara leaned back in her chair. "I guess the realities of the move haven't hit me. I understood needing an apartment," she smiled wryly, "after I talked to the hotel clerk about staying on. The rest?"

"One more reason to curse Gil." Catherine let go, moving back around the table and picking up her abandoned fork. "He seems to infect us with his tunnel vision. Too bad the transfer of talents doesn't go both ways. Maybe one of us could give him better people skills."

The pancakes were mostly cold now. Sara didn't care. They tasted better than anything she'd had in a long time. She stuffed in a large bite, syrup dripping off her lips. "We wouldn't recognize him," she mumbled around the mouthful.

"You want to try that in English?" Catherine took a much more manageable bite of her own food.

Sara swallowed and tried again. "None of us would recognize Grissom if he suddenly knew about people and not evidence. It's his unique charm." She dug in, quickly finishing off the pancake and reaching for another.

* * *

"I could do with a little less charm," Catherine admitted. "Not just Gil, though." She stood and took her plate to the dishwasher. "Men in general. I specialize in charming men."

The scrape of a utensil on a plate followed her comment. Then Sara's quiet, "Eddie?" filled the conversational lull.

"Eddie. Sam. Gil." Catherine settled the plate in the rack and closed the door. "All charming. All about whatever it is they want at the time." Turning to lean against the counter, she watched Sara work on finishing up the last of breakfast. "Even Greg. It's hard to resist that smile."

Sara raised a sardonic brow. "Don't tell me you fall for that Little Boy look, Cath. You've been reminding me since yesterday, 'I have a daughter…that won't work with me.'"

"Rub it in." Catherine smiled at the lighthearted teasing. Sara seemed better now, not so up and down emotionally. "I just go all weak in the knees for big eyes and smiles." The urge to push was just too strong. With a wink and a toss of her hair, she said, "Keep that in mind if you ever need a favor."

Knife dropping to the floor with a thud, Sara stared at her. "W-what?"

Catherine mentally repeated Sara's earlier cheer, _Score_. Hands smoothing down the front of her robe to yank unnecessarily at the tie, she purred, "I just wanted to help you out. Give you some insight into what works when you need a favor."

"Right. OK. Thanks," Sara babbled in staccato fashion. Her head bent studiously over the table, and she appeared to be frantically searching for something.

"The fork's on the floor, Sara." Catherine smothered a laugh when Sara nearly dove under the table to retrieve it. She considered staying to see just how much Sara could take, but…it was early days. Maybe just a taste for now. "I'm going to take a shower. Stick your head in if you need…anything."

* * *

Sara ignored the leading comment. Wiping her fork off with a napkin, she avoided even looking at Catherine as she strode by. When she used the edge of the utensil to cut a bite of pancake, she wasn't surprised to see her hand shaking again. At least this time, there was no fear of a panic attack. Panic was the last thing Sara felt.

Eating the last of the pancake took only minutes. Sara sat for longer, though, letting the peace of the kitchen seep in. Breakfast had been nice. When she wasn't being a bitch, Catherine was fun to be around. The teasing, though… Sara sighed. She was going to have to tell Catherine soon.

Putting that off for later, Sara followed Catherine's lead, placing all of the dirty plates and glasses into the dishwasher and returning all the condiments to the refrigerator.

"Time to get moving." She glanced out the kitchen window. "Literally." Her voice sounded loud and out of place in the now empty kitchen. Grimacing and shaking her head at her sudden need to talk to herself, Sara spun on her heel and went back to her guest room.

Perching on the edge of her neatly made bed, she dialed the first number from memory.

"Frankel," a terse voice growled in her ear.

Palms suddenly sweating, Sara mumbled, "Hey, Boss. It's Sara…Sidle." Then she mentally rolled her eyes. She'd been gone less than a week. He hadn't forgotten her yet.

He didn't answer at first. Finally, Sara heard his chair squeak in the background. "Thought you might be calling. I just got off the phone with that friend of yours. Grissom. He seems to think you're moving to Vegas."

Damn. Sara hunched forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "He's right, Frank."

"That wasn't the deal, Sidle," Frankel snapped. "Remember that part of the conversation? I authorized a leave. You were supposed to come back after it was over."

"I know." Sara cleared her throat. "I know," she said more firmly. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse." Sara acknowledged to herself she hadn't _wanted_ to refuse. "I'm staying here, Frank. Permanently."

She endured the next few minutes of increasingly angry arguments. The call ended with a grunted, "Good luck, kid," and the bang of Frankel's receiver slamming down.

"That went well," Sara consoled herself.

The next call was less upsetting. She made arrangements with a large full service mover to pack up her things and ship them to Vegas. Luckily, the agent had been good at her job. She'd known the numbers for some storage facilities near Catherine's house. Sara's things would be delivered there until she had a place of her own.

Move complete, Sara tapped her lips thoughtfully. Should she let the Olivia thing go? She remembered the smirk on Catherine's lips when she'd asked if Olivia could open doors. Hell, no, she wasn't letting that go. She picked up the phone again, dialing information. "I need the number for RC Farms, please. It's in North Las Vegas."


	20. Chapter 20

Sara's pager went off as she hung up the phone. She read the display out of habit and grinned. 

Grissom. 

It looked like Catherine had been right. Hopefully, her new landlord was right about other things. Ignoring the backlit number on the display, Sara tossed the small unit onto the nightstand and began to unpack. Last night she'd only done the minimum necessary. Now…well, now she needed to move in.

Her clothes barely put a dent in the closet. Looking at the meager collection of outfits, Sara decided this had to be one of her first tasks. It would be at least a couple of weeks before the rest of her things arrived from San Francisco. Putting the empty suitcase on the narrow shelf in the closet, Sara looked around the room for places to stack her journals. The small bookcase on the far wall was already filled. A closer look revealed a collection of adult crime novels and bodice rippers. Grinning, Sara took one off the shelf and flicked through it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Wow. Maybe I should do some research. I think I could learn a thing or two," she mumbled after finding a particularly erotic passage. 

The book – and the rest of the ones on the bookshelf – went into the closet. Sara unloaded her last suitcase of the bulky journals and smiled. There. Almost like home. 

A knock interrupted her examination. "Get everything settled?" Catherine inquired.

Sara turned her head. "Mostly. I hope you don't mind; I put your books in the closet." She grinned. "Nice collection of porn you had there, Cath."

A sandy eyebrow rose. "Porn? Oh, honey, if you want that, you need to talk to my ex. The stuff in here is far tamer than I saw every night in the club." Catherine strolled in and perched on the end of the bed. "Those romances were my way to escape the reality of marriage. If only all men were that good in bed."

"They aren't?" The questioned popped out, and Sara's face flamed. 

Catherine waited a beat. Was Sara about to admit her orientation? 

Brown eyes skittered around the room, and a pair of hands jammed into the pockets of Sara's jeans.

Another day. "Sadly, no," Catherine dryly commented. "If you want arrogant male chauvinists with sleazy friends…I can hook you up with those. Just don't expect a forever love and sex outside a nightclub bathroom."

"I'll pass. Thanks." Sara's words were an indistinct murmur.

Chuckling, Catherine stood and smoothed the front of her jeans. "I did a check of the cabinets. Groceries have been added to today's list. Do you want to tag along or stay?"

"Tag along." With an almost shy smile, Sara said, "I need to pick up a few more clothes. Now that this is permanent, I don't think a couple changes of clothes will work. Even Grissom would notice that I'd worn the same outfit three times in the same week."

"Speaking of Grissom…" Catherine picked up Sara's pager and tapped the button. "I see you got one, too." Tilting her head, she wondered aloud, "Did you call him back?" 

"No." The gap between Sara's front teeth flashed. "I took your advice and ignored it."

"Good girl." Catherine held out the pager. "If I were you, I'd leave this here. Gil usually pages every thirty minutes or so for the first few hours. After that, he starts calling here." 

Sara took the pager and examined it. Catherine could almost hear the internal argument and snickered.

Brown eyes lifted from their perusal of the pager. "What?" Sara's voice held a defensive edge.

"I just had this image of you with those cartoon characters on your shoulders." Moving toward the door, Catherine winked at Sara. "You know, the angel and the devil?"

With an eye roll worthy of Lindsey, Sara stuck the pager to her belt. "Well, if that's the case, the angel won. Now that I called Frankel and shared the good news, I can't afford to piss Grissom off. If he keeps paging, I'll have to call him back."

"Oh, no, you won't." If Sara chose to take the overtime, Catherine would have to go in, too. They'd left Sara's vehicle at the lab. "I have duct tape and I know how to use it," she threatened as she strode down the hall.

* * *

Wheeling into the lab parking lot, Catherine stifled a sigh and parked. "You ready for another fun filled night in Vegas?" Days off were never long enough. After nearly three days on the clock, a single day seemed far too short. 

"If it means my pager will stop going off, I'm all for getting back to work." Sara opened her door and hopped out. 

"I don't want to say, 'I told you so…'" Climbing out of the vehicle, Catherine glanced across the hood at Sara. 

The other woman grinned. "You're going to, though. I can sense it."

"Well, you did insist on taking the pager with us while we shopped." Looping her purse strap over her shoulder, Catherine closed the Tahoe's heavy door and walked toward the building. 

"Yeah, but I really didn't think he'd keep calling." Sara flung her hands up in the air. "How was I supposed to know Grissom would blow my pager up?"

Catherine cleared her throat. "I told you so," she announced in ringing tones. 

Hands dropping to her hips, Sara scowled. "You had to say it."

"Yes," Catherine agreed with a cheery smile. Sara's expression was cute. "Yes, I did. I told you not to take the pager. I even outlined the 'Grissom Plan to Drive You Mad.'" She yanked open the front door and waved Sara inside. "I keep telling you to listen to the voice of experience. Do you?"

Chuckling, Sara walked past. "Hell, no. I'm a scientist. I learn by trial and error. I need proof before I believe."

"This is Grissom we're talking about. He defies scientific reasoning." They moved down the hallway side by side. The wide corridor gleamed under fluorescent lights. When they reached the break room, Catherine saw Nick and Warrick on the couch, gaming consoles in hand. "Looks like Gil's hiding in his office. Go tell the boys to put their toys away. Grissom always has a fit when he sees them playing."

Sara took a step across the threshold. "Where are you going to be?"

"Dragging the mad scientist away from his latest experiment," Catherine replied. She pointed at the two men on the couch. "No toys when we get back." Ignoring Sara's sarcastic "yes, ma'am" and salute, Catherine hurried down the hallway to Grissom's office. The lights were off, the only illumination a lamp over a lab table. Peering through the gloom, she knocked on the doorframe.

Grissom's head appeared from behind the lamp. "Cath, nice of you to come in. I got a little worried when you didn't answer your pager this afternoon."

"You paged?" Playing the game, Catherine kept her face blank as she took a few steps into the office. "I'll check the batteries. It never went off."

An eyebrow rose over the frame of Grissom's glasses. "You might want to check Sara's, too. I think it may be something in your house that drains the batteries. She didn't answer hers, either."

Blithely ignoring the sardonic comment, Catherine asked, "Did you want to come out and give us our assignment or do you want us to take the night off?"

"I've become a paper pusher, Cath. That's all I do. No one wants me to solve crimes anymore," Grissom griped. He didn't get up. Catherine watched him adjust the light several times, brow furrowed in concentration. 

Pursing her lips, she tried to keep her irritation in check. He'd been the one to accept Brass' old job. Reminding him of that, though, wasn't going to help the situation. For a brilliant scientist, Grissom didn't always see what was right in front of him.

The light adjustments continued. 

Catherine glanced at the wall clock. Ten forty-five. If she didn't do something, they'd end up working a double just to catch up. Striding across the room, she grabbed the light and slammed it into the liquid-filled pan on the lab table. Flames erupted instantly. "You're too old for flash paper, Gil. We've got work to do, Boss."

Grissom's cell phone rang and vibrated on his desk. They both looked at it. 

"Don't answer it." Picking up the phone and the stack of assignment sheets, Catherine walked toward the door. "If you don't come with me, I'm handing these out myself."

"Are you going to answer my phone, too?" Grissom inquired as he scrambled along in her wake. "If so, I might decide to stay here." He grinned charmingly.

Shaking her head and laughing reluctantly, Catherine walked down the hallway. "Save it, Gil. I'm not saving you from your own bad choices. You didn't have to take this job. You could have told the Sheriff no."

"Could I?" Grissom met her eyes. "If I hadn't taken the job, you know you're next on the list."

Her steps slowed then stopped entirely. "I'm next in line by seniority, Gil. That doesn't mean-" Catherine started to protest.

"The only other name on the in-house list is Conrad," Grissom interrupted.

"Whoa." Clutching the paperwork in her hands tightly, Catherine leaned against the window behind her. "I…I didn't realize." Supervisor. She'd never considered that an option, not with her background. 

Grissom cleared his throat. "So you see, I saved _you _from all the paperwork, paperclips and number crunchers. You can thank me later. As someone recently reminded me, we have work to do."


	21. Chapter 21

They entered the break room side by side. Catherine smiled at Sara in approval. Nick and Warrick sipped coffee and idly scanned some of the forensics journals that littered the table near the television. The game controllers were nowhere in sight.

"Sorry I'm late, guys," Grissom announced. "Here are the assignments." Peering at the sheaf of slips in his hand, he started reading. "Warrick, you're with me. Dead body in the dessert."

Warrick snatched the paper from Grissom's hand. "Nice. I could use some time away from the bright lights." He nudged Sara with an elbow. "Convince Griss we should be a team. You're way better looking than he is."

Catherine pressed her hand over her mouth to cover her laugh as Sara gave Warrick a wide-eyed look. "'Rick, you can't compare Sara to Gil. That's just wrong," she teased. "I mean, a scruffy, absent-minded professor and –"

"Before we get lost in admiring Sara, I have more assignments." Grissom smirked. "I'm turning over a new leaf…becoming the supervisor I never wanted to be." He looked at the next pink form. "Sara, this will help me get back in the running. DB in a dumpster." The paper rattled as he flourished it.

* * *

"Great," Sara said unenthusiastically. What was it about being low man on the totem that ended up in dumpsters and sewers? "Glad I dressed down today." Taking the slip Grissom thrust her way, she read the address. A dumpster and a long drive. How long until the weekend?

As she strode to the door, Catherine's voice drifted through the room. "Not even garbage would make Sara less beautiful, Gil. Plus, garbage-covered means a shower when she gets back."

All thoughts of the dumpster faded. "Cath?" Sara felt glued in place. The normal sounds of the lab faded. Even the chuckles and comments from Nick and Warrick didn't make an impression.

Catherine appeared off-balance for a moment, and a pale pink tinted her cheeks. "Hey," she replied, tossing her hair, "I call it like I see it." Waving a hand at Grissom, Catherine continued, "You versus Gil. You win every time." Her blue eyes met Sara's for an instant and then flickered away.

That…wasn't what Sara had secretly hoped. Shoulders slumping slightly, she forced a grin. "Depends on what you're looking for, I guess. I can't match Grissom's five o'clock shadow, that's for sure. Later." She waved and walked into the hallway.

As she left the building and climbed into her vehicle, Sara ruefully acknowledged that she was officially a fool. In Vegas for less than a week and already lusting after a straight, completely unavailable coworker. Shouldn't age bring wisdom…or at least the need to avoid more pain?

The engine roared with more force than necessary as she toed the accelerator. With a soft thud, the Tahoe dropped into reverse, and Sara pulled out of the parking space.

It didn't matter. Catherine was a friend. She could live with that – and admire her friend's beauty when no one was looking. Sara wheeled the big SUV into traffic and forced her concentration back onto her job.

* * *

The smell reached Sara the second she got out of the Tahoe. God, she hated dumpster diving. Even with the move, she had seniority over Nick. Why wasn't he the one pulling overalls over his clothes? Grumbling to herself, she zipped up the shapeless blue outfit, grabbed her kit, and dodged puddles and trash as she walked around the coroner's van.

Detective Evans stood illuminated by the strobing red and blue lights of the police cruisers.

"Hey," Sara greeted him. "Got a name on the vic?"

A grin appeared briefly on Evan's face. "Sorry, Sara. It's not like she was carrying a purse."

What did that mean? Hooker? Drug dealer? Sara sat her evidence kit on the ground and pulled on two pairs of latex gloves. A face mask beckoned. Reaching out, she stroked the item. No. Smell was an important part of the job. The mask might block something important. She closed the kit and turned, planting one foot on the front of the dumpster.

A hand cupped her butt.

Sara's muscles tightened, her breath coming faster. The already-dark alley dimmed further.

"Here, let me help you." Detective Evans' other hand wrapped lightly around her hip. "Swing your leg over. I'll make sure you don't fall."

The light returned to the alley. "Thanks," Sara said softly, hoping the lack of volume would hide the tremor in her voice. It took two tries to straddle the top of the dumpster; her knees were shaky and her energy was depleted from the adrenaline surge.

As soon as she got settled, Sara peered into the trash below. A woman's body, wrapped in clear plastic, lay nestled on top of the refuse. Snapping a few pictures, she commented to Evans, "I see your point about the ID. Any information at all?" The flash whined loudly as she continued to take shots.

"Nothing. Not a lot of foot traffic…or any traffic here this time of night." Evans leaned on the dumpster near her thigh. "Anything good in there with her?"

Chuckling, Sara shook her head and looped the heavy camera over her neck and shoulder. "Too dark. I'll need some techs to bag the top twelve inches of trash and haul it back to the lab. Maybe the killer dropped something when he dumped the body." She removed the leg on the inside of the dumpster and jumped to the ground. "For now, let's get her out."

* * *

Wiping her hands on her pant legs, Catherine tried to regain her composure after Sara left. It wasn't easy. Nick and Warrick were still snickering and watching her.

Gil, of course, was completely clueless. "Here, Cath. You and Nick take this one. Verbum Dei Charter School. Four-twenty homicide. The school dean was killed in his office. The suspect called it in; could be self-defense." Another pink slip waved in the air as he held it out.

Not wanting to deal with the smirking Nick, Catherine took the paper. "You know, it sounds fairly routine. I can spare Nick if you and Warrick need another pair of hands."

Damn. Even Grissom caught the thread of unease in her voice. "Everything OK, Catherine?"

"Fine." Her reassurance came out too fast and too emphatic. Trying to modify her tone and get Grissom's eyebrows out of his hairline, Catherine smiled. "Just trying to be helpful, boss. You know me…always looking out for the team."

That set off another round of laughter.

Ignoring Warrick and Nick, Grissom nodded slowly. "Take Nick."

"You got it." Waving goodbye to her hopes of avoiding questions, Catherine gestured to Nick. "Let's go find out which rich kid offed the dean with his silver spoon."

She started for the door.

"Oh, it wasn't a student," Grissom called after her. "It was the woman who founded the school."

Catherine waved an acknowledgement but didn't stop. She heard Nick scrambling behind her, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

He finally caught up as she hurried past the receptionist desk. "So, Cath…"

Wanting to close her eyes, Catherine braced. Here came the questions.

"Me and Warrick. We look at Sara. I even had that shower thought." Nick opened and held the door for Catherine. "You? That was a surprise."

She had to stay cool. "Why? Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't recognize female beauty, Nick." Maybe if Nick drove, he'd been too busy to probe more. Abruptly changing her path, Catherine navigated around the front of the Tahoe and opened the passenger-side door. "Here." Digging in her front pocket, she pulled out the keys and tossed them at Nick. "You drive."

"Now I know there's something going on," he teased. "You never let anyone drive your vehicle."

* * *

Luckily, Catherine had been right about the talk dying off as Nick drove. She stared sightlessly out the window and thought about the day. What was going on? She'd never responded to another woman, not even the few women who'd come to the club when she'd danced. Was it knowing that Sara was a lesbian?

Her thoughts halted.

_Did_ she know Sara was a lesbian? There hadn't been any big announcements. All she had were suspicions.

The bright, flashing lights from the patrol cars at the scene of the crime interrupted her musings. Self discovery would have to wait. Catherine slipped out of the Tahoe as soon as Nick shut off the engine. Despite the late night activity, the school campus was quiet. Catherine scanned the darkened area as she went to the back of the SUV and opened the rear door for her kit.

Minutes later, weighed down by the heavy metal case in her hand, Catherine followed Nick into a plushly decorated office. Detective Kane stood with a pair of deputies, scribbling in a small notebook. He looked up and waved when he noticed them in the doorway.

"Hi," Catherine greeted him. She carefully picked her way across the room. "Wow. It's a mess in here."

"You said it." Kane grunted. "Vic's over there," he pointed at a sofa several feet away, "and the suspect's in another office waiting for you guys."

Nick set his kit down with a thump. "You want to do the questioning, Cath? I'll start with pictures and do a walkthrough."

"Yeah. That's good." Female suspects sometimes responded better to a female interrogator. Catherine looked back at Kane. "What do you have so far?"

Rubbing a hand over his ultra-short hair, Kane admitted, "Not much. Vic's name is Vernon Wood. Forty-nine. Single. He's got multiple blunt force trauma wounds to the head."

Nick had walked closer to the actual crime scene. "Got a trophy or something over here. Probably hit with that." Then he whistled. "Man, look at all the blood spatter."

Catherine wandered over and examined the body on the floor and the tide of red staining the white walls. "Oh, yeah. That looks like more than self defense. That was up close and personal with a lot of passion involved." As she stepped away from the couch, she told Nick, "Get started here. I'll check on the suspect."

Kane jumped in before she could get any further. "Her name's Kate Armstrong. She called 911 herself. Says Wood attacked her."

"That's not what the evidence suggests." Catherine grinned, pulse picking up.


	22. Chapter 22

Still fired with excitement over the case, Catherine strode out of the dean's office and across the hall to talk with the victim slash suspect. An officer guarded the door, but the small room was empty except for a slight blonde woman standing in front of the only window.

"Ms. Armstrong?" Catherine asked softly.

The woman spun, hand flying to her throat and eyes wide in shock.

Catherine checked her movement, stopping just inside the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Catherine Willows from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"You need to talk to me about what happened." Kate Armstrong's voice was rough and tight. Catherine noted tearstains and puffiness around her eyes. Walking slowly, she sank onto a leather love seat crammed into the corner of the room.

"Yes." Not letting the apparent frailty of their only suspect deter her, Catherine remained standing and started her interrogation with an easy question. "Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

Nodding, Armstrong mumbled a tired, "Sure." She paused, rubbing her hands over her face. "Vernon called me. He said he needed to talk about next year's budget – there were problems with funding…"

Catherine let the words flow without interruption. She already knew the facts wouldn't match the story. Her job was to find where the story and reality diverged. From the easy way Ms. Armstrong was speaking, this part was the truth.

"…I came right over, expecting to look over the balance sheets and projections for next year." Armstrong leaned back, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach.

"That didn't happen?" Catherine prodded gently when the tale didn't resume. She watched the other woman more intently. "Ms. Armstrong?"

Tears suddenly streamed down Kate Armstrong's face, and she sobbed out, "He wouldn't let go of me. He kept pawing. I can still smell his aftershave." The sobbing grew, and she bent forward over her knees. "It all happened so fast. It's all a blur. I just…I grabbed the closest thing I could and hit him with it."

Treading carefully, Catherine began to actively steer the interrogation. "What was it? A rock? A paperweight?"

"I don't know. It didn't matter as long as it got Vernon to let me go." Armstrong raised her head and glared defiantly at Catherine. "He wouldn't let me go!" she repeated.

Ignoring that, Catherine pushed for more. "How many times did you hit him?"

The answer came quickly. "Once." Armstrong's eyes flickered away briefly.

It was enough. Catherine bit back a smile and moved a step closer, looming over the smaller woman. "Ms. Armstrong, were you and the Dean in a relationship?" she asked, using the change in topic to lull her suspect into believing her lie hadn't been detected.

"No!" Armstrong exploded off the couch. "Vernon Wood was a pig. A complete creep."

Eyebrows rising at the vehement response, Catherine stayed calm. "If you disliked him so much, why hire him?"

That earned a watery chuckle. "The usual reason – money. Vernon had a lot of connections in this town, and he was very good at convincing people to open their wallets." Armstrong turned back to the window. "This place looks perfect on the surface, but, like most things, it takes a lot to keep it that way."

"I bet." Catherine relaxed her pose, hoping to get her suspect to slip up. Voice deliberately casual, she returned to the earlier line of questioning. "You know, you didn't hit the Dean one time."

Armstrong stiffened visibly. "Who knows? I..." She was off balance, and her voice was unsure.

"I'm a scientist," Catherine explained. "I look at the evidence." Not looking away from Armstrong's back, she went on, "Here's what I know about blunt force injuries: If you hit a man once, there's no blood. It's a free shot."

She moved to the right slightly, wanting to see Armstrong's face as she continued the lesson.

"If you hit him more than once, though, you get lots of blood." She closed in, standing inches from Armstrong's right side. "The walls in that office look like the Dean went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson."

The other woman spun quickly, taking a surprised step back at Catherine's proximity.

"Kate? Are you alright?" a new voice sounded from the doorway.

Stifling a curse, Catherine watched a tall, brunette woman rush across the room. She stopped a few feet from Armstrong, hands rising between them for a second before dropping back to her sides.

"I'm sorry, you can't…" Catherine began.

She never got the chance to finish. "I called the school's attorney. He has someone on the way, Kate. Don't say another word."

* * *

Sara followed the coroner's van into the lot and parked. Why had she thought Las Vegas would be more exciting than San Francisco? Shelving that thought, she climbed out of the Tahoe and hurried inside the building.

The hallways were dim, and her footsteps echoed eerily on the way to the autopsy room.

"Doc? You got the body they just brought in?" Sara asked as she shoved open the swinging metal doors to Autopsy Room One.

Doctor Robbins's crutch made soft thuds on the tile floor as he maneuvered around the gleaming autopsy table. "It's coming in now," he announced. "Anything useful at the dump sight?"

"'Fraid not. I was hoping you could find something to at least help me ID the body." Sara leaned against one of the counters surrounding the work area. "I've got Greg and some of the other techs going over the trash from the dumpster. So far, they haven't found anything, either."

The large door at the rear of the room swung open with a whoosh, and two green-clothed men wheeled the gurney in.

"You want me to take a look now, Sara?" Doctor Robbins inquired.

She grinned slightly. "Well, I could tell you I stopped in for a visit, but…" Shrugging, Sara met his amused look. "If I did, I'd be lying. _Can_ you take a look at her now?"

"It's my lunch hour. As long as neither of you mind if I eat while I work." With a wink, he limped his way to the body bag and unzipped the heavy plastic.

* * *

"Why would she need a lawyer?" Catherine inquired, trying to sound non-threatening. If Kate Armstrong retained council, they wouldn't get a chance to dig for information.

Armstrong's defender didn't back down. "You're treating her like a suspect with all of your questions. Kate needs a lawyer, and you can't talk to her until he gets here."

Nodding reluctantly, Catherine turned and walked toward the door. "Deputy," she said quietly to the young man by the door, "those two will be needing transportation to the Sheriff's Office."

"Yes, ma'am." He straightened and reached for the shoulder mic, relaying her request to dispatch.

"Thanks. Let me know when they leave, please." Catherine gave his a smile and returned to the dean's office. "Wow!"

Nick nodded but didn't stop stretching red string across the room.

"What's up, Nick?" Catherine peered around the room, noting the several different colored groupings of string. "Did you find something?"

Grunting, Nick crawled under several strands of pink string before standing. "No, you first. I remember the lecture I got for forgetting _you _were the senior CSI. Did the suspect confess?"

"Nope. She might have until some woman stormed in and announced a lawyer was on the way." Catherine crossed her arms. "Armstrong was definitely lying. I didn't have a chance to probe and find out why. She claimed to have only hit him once, and flinched when I mentioned the spatter on the walls in here."

"Well, maybe we can figure out what she's trying to hide." Nick pointed to the spot where all of the strings originated.

"Maybe we don't need Kate Armstrong to tell us the truth," Catherine murmured. "You see what I see?"

Nick nodded. "If you see the X marking the spot." Pointing to the convergence of string, he started to lay out the events in the room. "A blow here," he indicated the green string, "here," the red, "and here," the pink string. "I'd say our dean received the majority of the blows when he was on the ground."

"You do good work," Catherine told him. She spun slowly, taking in the physical evidence along with Nick's handiwork. "We're still missing something, though. I don't know…"

"What are you thinking?" Nick started to look, too. "I mean, the spatter lays it out pretty well. The dean's down; Armstrong hits him multiple times. Blood hits the walls where the strings show." Frowning, he stared at the far wall. "I got it, Cath. I got it."

When he didn't explain, Catherine asked wryly, "Are you going to share with me? I still don't see it."

With a wide smile, Nick pointed to the far wall. "Take a look at the back wall, Cath." Carefully ducking and crawling under the many strings, he moved closer to the spot he'd indicated. ""Follow the trail of blood." Nick touched individual strings. "The spatter moves in a consistent arc until here."

He waved his hand at a large area devoid of spatter.

"A void," Catherine breathed. "You're a genius, Nick. There's an interruption where something, or some_one_, got in the way of the spray."


	23. Chapter 23

"We've known all along Armstrong was lying," Catherine announced. "Here's our proof." She smiled at Nick. "Now we just need to find out why."

Crawling under the profusion of string, he laughed. "You know what Grissom would say about that, Cath."

She simply rolled her eyes.

Nick, though, wanted an answer. "Come on. Say it with me," he urged as he regained his feet."

"The why isn't important. Follow the clues and find the how." Their voices merged as they chanted the oft repeated advice.

"Luckily, Gil's not here," Catherine said without Nick's deeper echo. "It's just you, me, a suspect, and all this evidence." Then she deflated somewhat. "Damn. Armstrong and her 'savior' are headed to the Sheriff's Office. I would have liked to have seen her reaction to this. The blood spatter and the colored strings might have been enough to shock her out of the lie."

Waving a hand, Nick caught her attention. "We can come close to first hand, Cath." He pointed to the camera, resting on the dean's cluttered desk. "Crime scene photos. I'll snap a few more of the void and the spatter pattern. Maybe when we put them on the table, Kate Armstrong will tell us what really happened."

* * *

Staring into the interview room, Catherine rolled her neck. It didn't help. The muscles didn't relax.

"Everything's set up, Cath," Nick announced from the doorway. "I've got the photos on the board and the measurements are plugged into Greg's computer program." He grinned. "Should be a good show." He ducked back out without waiting for her response.

With a wry glance at the two women sitting tensely across from each other at the interview table, Catherine murmured to herself, "I think the show is already playing." The microphone between rooms was off. Armstrong's lawyer had seen to that. Still, Catherine had watched Armstrong and the brunette who'd charged into her initial interview with interest. There was something…

Before she could figure out what bothered her about the scene, Brass entered the room flanked by Armstrong's lawyer.

"Ms. Armstrong, I'm Captain Jim Brass." He smiled genially and shook Kate Armstrong's hand.

In the darkened observation room, Catherine smirked. That was Brass' patented 'I know you're lying' smile.

The door to the interview room opened again. Nick wheeled in a photo-filled rolling bulletin board. Seconds later, Greg set up a laptop and a projector screen. He left while Nick took a seat next to Brass.

Catherine noted Armstrong's eyes go immediately to the photos. An enlarged image of the dead dean took up the center of the space. The suspect's lips tightened, and her already pale face lost more color.

"Ms. Armstrong, this is Nick Stokes, one of our crime scene investigators. He found something interesting when he looked at the dean's office." Brass gestured at Nick. "If you don't mind, I'm going to let him walk us through the evidence."

Armstrong's head nodded slightly, and her hand slid along the table toward the brunette at her side.

"Thank you. Now, before Mr. Stokes gets started, maybe you could introduce me to your co-worker." Catherine was sure Brass' request was for show. He had to have already done a background check on anyone Armstrong knew.

The hand froze then fisted against the steel tabletop.

"My name is Julia Eastman. I'm a teacher at Verbum Dei," the brunette answered.

"Great. Thanks." Brass flashed another faux smile. "Maybe you can tell me why you're with us. I mean, if Nick here was a suspect in a crime, I'd be there for him…in the waiting room. Not the interview room."

Armstrong's lawyer raised a hand, forestalling any reply. "That's not relevant. Let's get on with this demonstration, Captain. My client has had a very difficult night. I'm sure she'd like to go home and get some sleep soon."

Catherine listened to Nick's explanation of the blood spatter evidence with only half her attention. Julia Eastman. Why was she here? Brass was right. This was above and beyond the call of simple friendship.

Mind working on the clues, Catherine tuned back in to the interrogation.

"If you look right here, you can see where someone stood." Nick had the computer displaying a computer image of the scene on the projector screen. "We call that a void."

"You wouldn't happen to know who was there, would you, Ms. Eastman?" Brass asked smoothly.

Unlike Kate Armstrong, this woman didn't flinch or try to avoid the question. "I think we both know you believe it was me, Captain." Julia shrugged. "Before we waste anymore time, I was there."

"Julia!" The admission brought Kate Armstrong almost erect behind the table. She was flushed and she stared at the other woman in shock. "Please, don't…"

Catherine stiffened, watching the byplay. They were protecting each other. Why?

"So, you were there when the dean attacked Ms. Armstrong." Brass let that statement sink in.

Leaning into the glass, Catherine continued to regard the suspect and her co-worker intently.

Clearing his throat, Brass leaned his arms on the table. "If this was just a late night budget meeting, like Ms. Armstrong thought, why did you tag along?"

Again, Catherine noticed the greatest reaction out of Armstrong. A bright blush painted her cheeks. "She went because I asked her to go. Dean Woods…He scared me. I didn't want to be alone with him, even for a budget talk. Julia was there just in case."

"Just in case what?" Brass pushed for more details. "Did you think the dean might attack you?"

"Not attack…exactly." Julia Eastman crossed her arms and rubbed her hands over her biceps. She flicked a glance at Armstrong and sighed. "The dean had been harassing Kate for months. We made a plan. The next time he called her for any kind of private meeting, I'd go along as a witness in case he tried to hit on her."

Her body language indicated she was telling the truth. Eastman met Brass' eyes squarely, and she sat erect in the chair.

Catherine still suspected there was more to the story. There had to be in order to explain the evidence.

* * *

Sara slumped into a chair, sipping her coffee. Her lips twisted at the bitter, burned taste.

"Hey! What are you doing back?" The hot liquid sloshed out at Greg's sudden question.

"Damn it!" Sara jumped up. Coffee stained the front of her shirt, and she grabbed the fabric, pulling it away from her skin. "Put some bells on next time," she snapped. Stalking to the sink, she wet a handful of paper towels. The cold soothed the pink skin of her chest but did little for the stain.

Greg hovered a few feet away. "Sorry. I thought…well, I guess I wasn't thinking." He ran a hand through his artistically spiked hair. "I was just surprised to see you back so soon."

"Not a lot of work to do when your DB was dead already." Sara turned around and looked at Greg. "I thought they chained you in the lab. Did Grissom suddenly remember the labor laws and let you out for a break?"

"No such luck." With a wink and a grin, Greg waltzed across the room and grabbed the coffee pot. "Never, never drink this swill they call coffee. When you need a java fix, come see me." Sandy eyebrows wiggled. "I have the good stuff stashed in my lab."

"Really? You grow your own…beans?" Sara smirked as Greg rinsed out the pot. "I can't believe the LVPD lets you grow on the property."

Waving the dripping container by its handle, Greg answered, "See, I knew you were going to fit in. I don't grow." He leaned in confidingly. "I'm a buyer. Just small quantities at the moment, but…I might be in the market to branch out."

Footsteps in the hallway broke up their play.

Sara glanced out the door and spotted Grissom headed their way. "Oops. The boss is coming. We should probably look busy." She grabbed files she'd been planning to read through. "You never did tell me why you were out of the lab, Greg."

"Had to set up the computer for a little demonstration Nick and Cath are doing in Interview One. Blood spatter says the suspect isn't telling the truth." He put the coffee pot in the drain tray just as Grissom walked in. "Well, let me know if I can help with the case, Sara," Greg announced in a too loud voice before scurrying out of the room.

Following his lead, Sara nodded to Grissom and trotted into the hallway. She didn't turn toward the lab she'd been using for an office, though. Blood spatter sounded a lot more exciting than embalmed corpses. Interview One was her new destination.

When she pushed open the door to the observation room, Sara noticed Catherine slumped against the glass. "Cath?" She said the other woman's name softly since Catherine appeared transfixed by the action through the two-way mirror.

"I'm missing something," came Catherine's distracted response. "I've got all the evidence. I even have most of the facts. They just don't fit together."

Curious about the cause of Catherine's confusion, Sara strolled over to the glass. "Isn't this the dead guy at the school?" She looked at the people in the room. "Which of the women is the suspect?"

A single slim finger pointed at the short blonde woman hugging herself.

As she focused on the interrogation, Sara frowned. Shit. The suspect leaned toward her taller brunette companion. For just a second, they almost touched before jerking away again.

Cold dread settled in her stomach, and Sara backed away from the glass.


	24. Chapter 24

Sara continued to stumble backward toward the door. Catherine was on her own solving her mystery.

Unfortunately, her movements brought Catherine's head around. "Sara? What's wrong?"

Freezing in place, Sara stared into the concerned blue eyes peering at her in question. "Nothing," she answered truthfully. "I'm fine." The women in the other room, though…they weren't. Sara forced her arms away from her stomach, not wanting Catherine to keep questioning her. "I got cold all of a sudden. The air conditioning in here must be on Artic."

She wasn't sure Catherine bought the excuse. A frown wrinkled Catherine's forehead for a second before clearing. "You just haven't been in Vegas long enough, that's all. Give it a couple of months. After that, if it's not spitting snow, you'll think the temperature's set too high."

That had been too close. She's almost given away her knowledge. Sara took another slow step toward the door. "I should probably go check on my evidence." Her hand brushed the knob and turned it quietly. "Good luck with whatever you're missing." Guilt burned Sara's stomach as she purposely _didn't_ give Catherine the information she'd picked up

"Wait," Catherine commanded softly. "Come on, Sara. Watch with me for a few minutes. I'm sure it's something simple." She wandered back to the two-way glass and pointed. "It's there. See the way they are with each other? I keep expecting…" she broke off and growled in frustration. "I keep expecting to figure it out."

The door closed quietly. Reluctantly, Sara joined Catherine again. The two women in the other room had recovered. They no longer leaned toward each other. Heads held stiffly, there were no more shared glances. "What's the deal?" she asked in an attempt to steer the conversation to the details of the case and away from her suspicions. "Didn't the evidence give you what you need?" Catherine was an experienced investigator; Sara was surprised she hadn't put the signs together yet.

"The evidence tells me those two are lying. It wasn't self defense; Armstrong hit the dean at least a dozen times." Catherine rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't know why, though. _That's_ what I'm missing. Why did she do it?"

"That's not what we do, Cath." Sara stood a little straighter. This was old ground; she'd heard Grissom give this speech the day they'd met. "We're criminalists. All we care about is the how and the when. The cops have to find the why."

Catherine's eyes bore into Sara. "Stop quoting Gil. He's not always right," she said brusquely. "Why a suspect commits a crime gives us valuable information, too. What if Armstrong chose that rock on purpose? What if it wasn't just self defense gone overboard?"

Sara refrained from mentioning that Catherine had just proven Grissom's point. Their job was simply to look at the evidence and prove who had done the crime. Investigating motive required a badge, not a Bachelor of Science degree. "I can't help you, Cath," she said softly. _I won't_, she added silently.

* * *

The feeling was back. Catherine rolled her head, loosening the taught muscles in her neck. She was missing something – and not only about the case this time. Sara wasn't telling her the whole truth. "Can't or won't," she pushed experimentally.

A blush tinted Sara's cheeks. Bingo.

"Damn it, Sara. This isn't a game. This is about a case. If you have information, I need to know!" She stepped toward Sara, hands on hips. "Stop playing coy and spit it out."

She wasn't expecting Sara's flinch and the half-step she took away.

It cooled her irritation immediately. "I'm sorry," Catherine said in a softer voice. Dropping her hands to her sides, she stepped back. "I'm so sorry." After the scene in the kitchen this morning, Catherine had known Sara didn't respond well to sudden moves or touches. It wasn't a huge leap to expect the same reaction to loud voices or aggression.

"No, it's OK, Cath." Sara hunched forward and her arms wrapped around her stomach again. "You're right. You need to know." A tiny smile crept out and Catherine relaxed slightly. "I'm being an idiot."

"Nah. Not an idiot," Catherine teased. She stretched her hands over her head, keeping the mood lighter and less intense. She didn't want to spook Sara again. "So what did your great powers of observation pick up?" Continuing to joke, Catherine went on, "I must be slipping. First you figure out about the not-so-kidnapped wife, and now you're about to solve this case for me. Maybe I should go back to dancing."

Husky laughter told her she'd succeeded in getting Sara into a better frame of mind. "I'm sure you'd still pack the house." Brown eyes swept over Catherine's body before bouncing back to the interview room.

Catherine shivered from the impact of Sara's examination. The air conditioned room suddenly felt smaller and far warmer than before.

"What do you seen in there, Cath?" Sara's question jerked Catherine back from her daze.

Not again. "Is this like that thing with the duct tape in the truck, Sara? Am I supposed to guess what's going on in your mind?" Catherine grumbled as she examined the interrogation room again.

"Don't guess. Everything you need is in that room." Sara rubbed her hands up and down her arms and bowed her head.

Whatever it was bothered Sara. Going off the younger woman's body language, Catherine thought it might be a something with personal significance to Sara. "I see Brass and Nick explaining the blood spatter evidence again. Brass looks irritated." He glowered across the table and leaned aggressively forward. "He probably thought one of them would break by now." So had she. They'd been in there over an hour.

"No. Don't look at Brass or Nick. Look at the two women," Sara insisted. She raised her head and followed her own instructions.

Following Sara's gaze, Catherine looked again. "What am I supposed to see?" Catherine didn't really think Sara would answer. This was clearly another teaching moment.

Armstrong sat with her forearms on the steel table. Her head was bent forward and her shoulders slumped wearily. Gritting her teeth, Catherine admitted there was nothing new there.

Transferring her attention to Julia Eastman, Catherine watched for a moment. The slender brunette sat back in her chair, hands resting on her thighs.

"Damn it…" Catherine began to say. Then she saw it. Eastman's left hand slid off her leg and hesitantly dropped onto Armstrong's right knee. It might have been a casual and friendly gesture if Eastman's thumb hadn't begun caressing Armstrong's thigh in a slow and comforting move.

* * *

Catherine's head snapped up, and Sara could almost _see_ the light bulb go on in her mind. She waited tensely for the other woman's reaction now that the secret was out.

"They're lovers," Catherine announced. "I'm an idiot. They've been hovering over each other all night long."

That was it? Sara let out a slow breath. "You have your why now, Cath. Feel better?" she pushed. Surely Catherine would have some other comment to make. Everyone had something to say about homosexuals.

"No." With a wry smile, Catherine met Sara's eyes. "It doesn't change the facts of the case; although, I'm sure Armstrong's lawyer will use it during trial. It makes a more compelling defense when added to his unwanted groping."

Sara squirmed under Catherine's suddenly intent gaze. "What?" she asked in discomfort and not a little fear. Surely Catherine hadn't done the math so quickly - or so accurately.

"The signs were all there; I didn't see them, though. If it had been a man and a woman…No problem. That whole protective routine is familiar." Catherine leaned her back against the mirror and crossed her arms. "You saw it right away. You knew what to look for, didn't you, Sara?"

* * *

Sara went so white Catherine thought she might pass out. Pushing away from the window, she got ready to grab the other woman if she fell.

"Like you said, the signs were all there. I used to work in San Francisco. I guess I'm a little more used to same sex pairings than you, Cath," Sara said in a stiff voice.

The explanation made sense, but it wasn't good enough for Catherine. The issue of Sara's sexual orientation was like that infamous white elephant in the small room. She wasn't letting the large obstacle grow. Sara had to understand that being a lesbian wasn't a problem. "I'll give you that," she allowed. "Still, it wasn't the only reason you recognized what was happening, though, was it?"

Sara retreated a step. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Now you sound like a suspect denying she had anything to do with the crime. Look, Sara, I'm going to just lay it out for you. I know, OK? I read the signs and I figured out your secret before I asked you to move in with me and Lindsey," Catherine said softly. "Please. Stop hiding. It's not a problem for me."


	25. Chapter 25

Sara stood stiff and silent in the small room.

"Alright, be that way." Catherine turned away in dismissal. If Sara wouldn't – or couldn't – tell her the truth, she wasn't going to force the issue.

The door to the observation room opened and closed.

Leaning against the two-way glass, Catherine sighed. Damn it. That really hadn't gone the way she'd intended. Now she'd have to find Sara as soon as their shift was over and apologize. A humorless smile twisted her lips. Knowing Sara, even a heartfelt sorry might not be enough.

Movement on the other side of the glass forced her attention away from her personal problems.

"It doesn't matter why I did it, Captain." Armstrong was on her feet and glaring at Brass. "I did it. That's all you need to know."

Her attorney gripped her arm so tightly, Catherine expected there to be permanent indentations later. "Kate, stop. Sit down and let me handle this!"

Armstrong wasn't listening. She wrenched away and continued. "I confess. That's what you want, isn't it? A confession?" Suddenly running out of energy, Armstrong slumped back into her chair. "I confess," she repeated softly. "What do I need to do now?"

The words weren't shocking, even if Catherine hadn't expected them. Something didn't ring right, though. Using the knowledge Sara had given her, she stopped watching Armstrong and turned her attention to Julia Eastman.

Head bent and arms wrapped around her stomach, she seemed completely detached from the increasingly heated exchange next to her.

"I wonder…" Catherine raised her hand and knocked lightly on the glass. Brass' head came around, and he didn't look happy at the interruption. Catherine persevered and rapped a little louder.

After mumbling a quick apology to the women and Nick, Brass strode from the room.

* * *

Sara fought an urge to run and walked as calmly as she could down the gleaming hallway. Her heart raced and she clenched her fists against her sides. How had Catherine figured her out?

Actually, that one was easy. Catherine was a CSI, and Sara knew she'd been less than skilled at hiding her reaction to the older woman.

The better question was: what should she do now?

"Sara?" David Phillips' voice interrupted her internal quandary.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Sara spun to face the panting Assistant Coroner. "David. What are you doing here?" she asked brusquely.

He flinched back, resettling the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Oh…um…" David stuttered. After straightening his shoulders with a noticeable jerk, he smiled at Sara. "I thought you'd like to know that the funeral home that handled the Reyes burial is coming in for another pickup. They should be here in about thirty minutes."

It was the reprieve Sara needed. She could shelve the Catherine problem until later. Right now, she had a case to work. "Thanks, David. That was sweet of you."

His blush turned even his ears a hot pink.

"Did you come all the way down here just to tell me that?" Sara asked as they started for the exit.

David cleared his throat and looked away.

"You did!" Bumping his shoulder, Sara watched him closely. "Are you trying to hit on me, David?"

"Uh…" He shot her a series of quick glances. "Yes," David finally muttered as he shoved open the door and let Sara precede him outside. "I am."

The sound of the traffic on the nearby street was loud as Sara stared at David.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sara." He yanked a ring full of keys from his pocket and hurried away.

Biting her lip in indecision, Sara watched him go. When he unlocked his car (on the third try), she sprinted after him. "David, wait." She put a hand on his arm and waited for a minute until he reluctantly turned to face her. "It's not what you think," Sara assured him.

His lips twitched into a small smile. "You mean this isn't you turning me down?"

"Oh, no. I am turning you down." Sara held up an apologetic hand when his smile disappeared immediately. "Let me give you some advice, David. If you want to attract a woman, lose the coat," she pointed to his rumpled blue lab coat, "and the glasses. Grow some scruff and try for some confidence. They'll be lining up."

"And if I do?" She hated the hopeful look on his round and boyish face.

Sucking in a deep breath and looking away, Sara explained, "You're not really my type, David." She forced her eyes to meet his, hoping he'd catch the inference.

He didn't. Not at first. Then his eyes widened behind the circular frames of his glasses. "Oh! You're…" David broke off and blushed deeply again.

The knot in her stomach loosened a bit at David's less than disgusted reaction. "I'm gay, David." Sara tested him with the blunt announcement. There could be no misunderstandings now.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I hope I didn't offend you." David reached out and hesitantly patted her arm. "With the whole asking you out thing."

The relief was so intense, Sara swayed from the rush of feeling. "Not offended at all, David." Winking at him, she leaned in close and whispered, "In fact, if I was going to date any man here, you'd be top of the list."

He straightened and puffed out his chest. "Good to know. And…and I'll think about your advice with the coat and facial hair."

Sara didn't believe him. David didn't seem to be the type. He looked at home in his starched lab coat and smooth cheeks. "Guarantee you'll get a date. Guarantee it." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the keys to her Tahoe. "I'll follow you out?"

* * *

Catherine followed Brass into the interview room and smoothed sweating palms over the thighs of her jeans.

"Sorry for the interruption, ladies," Brass smoothly apologized as he resumed his seat. "This is Ms. Willows. She believes she has new evidence in the case."

Hiding her wince at Brass' choice of phrase, Catherine walked over to the board displaying the photos and blood spatter evidence. "Ms. Armstrong," she began, searching for the right approach, "you told me that the dean was good at fundraising. Were you one of his donors?"

She thought she'd been too subtle until Kate Armstrong's hand tightened into a fist on the tabletop. "It was my school," Armstrong muttered. "I gave a lot of money to keep it open."

"Are you sure you gave your money to the school?" Catherine tried again. She didn't want to be the one to say the words out loud. She wanted Armstrong to admit the truth.

"Where else would it go?" For a second, Catherine sensed the other woman was on the verge of a confession. Then the lawyer dropped a hand on Armstrong's shoulder, and she broke of with just the single question.

"Ms. Willows, show us this evidence you claim to have, or my client and I are leaving." The lawyer was bluffing. Brass and Nick had enough evidence to convict Armstrong of murder.

"Oh, it's not really evidence," Catherine confessed. Tapping a fingernail on the photo of the dean sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, she went on. "It's more of a reinterpretation of what we already have." She turned and faced the people crowded at the table. "Ms. Armstrong, why did you recommend a raise for Dean Wood if you were unhappy with his behavior?"

Armstrong must have sensed the danger ahead. She shifted in her chair and glanced frantically around the room.

When there was no answer to her question, Catherine didn't let it bother her. "I believe I know why." Now panicked green locked onto her. "The dean was blackmailing you, wasn't he?"

Silence reigned.

It was broken after long seconds. "You know it all, don't you?" Julia Eastman entered the conversation. Sitting forward in her chair, she reached out and took Armstrong's hand. She had to grip tightly when the hand tried to jerk away. "Shhh, baby. It's over, can't you see? They know. Tell them the truth, please."

Catherine waited tensely as the two women held a silent argument, staring intently into each other's eyes.

Armstrong lost the fight. Dropping her eyes, she turned her hand palm up and twined her fingers with Eastman's. "Vernon found out about us a couple of years ago," she admitted softly. "At first, he seemed OK with it. It was nice." Armstrong smiled sadly and flicked a glance at her girlfriend. "At least when it was just the three of us, Julia and I could be like a regular couple, and we didn't have to pretend."

"That changed. When? Why?" Brass' terse questions shattered the nostalgic mood.

"I'm not sure." Armstrong shrugged at the disbelieving look she received from Brass. "All I know is we were friends and then we weren't. We were in his office, alone, about three months ago. Going over applications for next year. Vernon came up behind me and…" She lost her composure and her voice broke. "…and he put his hands on my breasts.

"After that, every time we were alone, he touched me. I told him no and reminded him about Julia." Armstrong's voice rose. "Vernon laughed and said he'd given me enough time to come to my senses. I was a beautiful woman; I didn't need to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a date."

"He didn't take the refusal well?" Catherine already knew the answer to her question.

Armstrong shook her head rapidly. "No. He threatened me…us. Said he'd go to the Board of Trustees if I didn't pay him to keep quiet." Tears streaked her face as she looked up. "No parent would send their child to a school run by a pair of dykes."

* * *

"You believe that, Cath?" Nick ripped off the last photo and shoved it into the Wood case file.

Running a hand through her hair, Catherine shrugged. "That Vernon Wood blackmailed Kate and Julia? Or that they didn't have any other options like she claimed?" Either way, they'd killed him. The evidence of their orientation would only be useful if their lawyer could sell it to a jury.

"That, too. But…that people would pull their kids out of Verbum Dei if they'd known. You've got a kid. Would you send Lindsey if you knew about them?"

"Hell, yeah. Come on, Nick. Two women in a committed relationship or a creep like Dean Wood. Not a tough choice," Catherine assured him. She knew, though, that most people wouldn't feel the same. Leaving the interview room, Catherine started for the break room. Coffee sounded good after the long statement Armstrong had given.

"Ms. Willows?" Judy called from behind the high counter of the receptionist's desk.

Praying it wasn't another assignment, Catherine walked over. "Yes?"

"There was a delivery for you. Um…" Judy stood up and raised the hinged portion of the desk. "I kept it here because…well, here." She held out the looped end of a leash.

Stepping around the counter, Catherine took the leather handle just as a tiny pink nose emerged around the bottom of Judy's desk. "Oh…she didn't." Slowly dropping to her knees, Catherine picked up the small pig and read the card attached to a ribbon around the its…her neck.

_Hi. My name is Olivia._


	26. Chapter 26

Catherine stared down at the fuzzy snout now rooting at her shirt. Olivia? Her eyes narrowed. "Have you seen Ms. Sidle this morning?" she asked Judy.

"Sorry. She left a few hours ago with the Assistant Coroner." Papers rustled as Judy checked the log sheet. "She hasn't called in since then. Do you want me to radio her?"

"No." Clutching Olivia in her arms, Catherine started down the hallway. "I'll talk to her later." After all, Sara had to come home sometime. Home… The squirming bundle in her arms reminded her of a looming problem. What was she going to do with a pet pig?

A cough interrupted her internal musings. "Uh, Cath?" Nick asked. She could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice. "Don't most people get a dog or cat when they pick their first pet?"

Mock glaring at him, Catherine carefully brandished Olivia. "Could you turn down this face?"

Olivia's series of grunts seemed to indicate that _she_ would have a hard time resisting.

"But a _pig_, Cath?" Nick reached out and scratched Olivia's whiskered chin.

She restrained the urge to tell him about Sara's probable involvement in Olivia's appearance. "Give her a chance, Nicky. Pigs are supposed to be very clean, very trainable animals." That was pot bellied pigs, Catherine thought. Hopefully, though, it would distract Nick.

"If you say so." He didn't sound convinced.

"I do." With a bright smile, Catherine changed the subject. "You want to check in with Trace on the rest of the evidence from the dean's office? I can start on the paperwork." She ignored his wide-eyed look of disbelief at her very out of character offer. "If anything new pops up, give me a call." It was a pro forma suggestion, and they both knew it. With the mountain of blood evidence _and_ a confession, there really shouldn't be any surprises.

"You got it, Cath." With a wave, Nick veered off and hurried down the hallway to the right.

Alone with Olivia, Catherine headed for her 'office.' The out of the way lab looked like a paper warehouse. Piles of it covered the desk crammed into one corner and spilled onto the rolling cart to one side and the floor on the other. "Looks like you have the perfect sty, cutie. Try not to destroy too much of it, though, OK? Gil gets testy when I tell him my pig ate my homework."

* * *

Sara followed David's car into the parking lot. As she turned off the engine, he climbed out of his own vehicle and waited for her. Before I talk to this guy, David," she asked when she joined him on the sidewalk, "did you find out anything else from the body?"

"Sorry, Sara. Dead, embalmed, and then dumped. That's all." David walked toward the morgue entrance. "Mr. Gesek doesn't normally do his own pickups, though. It's usually one of his employees." Looking back with a half-smile, he confessed, "That was the other reason I came to get you in person."

"Smooth, David. Very smooth." Laughing, Sara ducked under the arm he used to hold open the door. It was cool and dim inside. "Maybe you should consider taking the field test. Join the team."

Giving her a look over the top of his glasses, David disagreed. "No. Thank you for the vote of confidence, though. I smelled you when you came back from your dumpster dive. I'll stay here and handle the bone saw." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better hurry. You don't want to miss Mr. Gesek."

He set a stiff pace down the hallway, and, even with longer legs, Sara had to trot to keep up. David bypassed the autopsy room, turned down a bewildering series of corridors, and pushed open steel doors.

A dark-haired man clutched the railing of a gurney and looked up in surprise at their abrupt entrance.

Sara didn't give him time to recover his composure. "Mr. Gesek, I'm Sara Sidle from the Crime Lab." She was dimly aware that David hadn't stayed with her. Too bad. "I have some questions about one of your customers." Stepping forward, she yanked down the top of the sheet covering the body on the gurney. "This one, Stephanie Reyes."

"I'm afraid I don't know much," Gesek murmured. He returned the sheet to its previous position.

"Really?" Sara didn't believe him. "That's too bad. Maybe you'll know the answer to _this_ question, though. How did Ms. Reyes rise from the grave and end up in a dumpster?"

"Uh…" He stepped away from her and moved to the other side of the body. "Well, no one in the mortuary business likes to talk about it, but it does happen."

Sara tilted her head. "I'm new here, Mr. Gesek. I don't seem to speak the language. Can you spell it out for me? What happens?" She tried to sound as harmless as possible.

She must have struck the right note. Gesek relaxed and actually leaned toward her over the corpse. "Grave robbing."

"You're saying someone dug Stephanie Reyes up? For what? The shoes she wore for her own funeral?" Sara gave up on sweet and helpless. Gesek was lying. He had to be. "Mr. Gesek, people may rob graves. In fact, I've even worked a few of those over the years." She stalked around the gurney, moving so quickly Gesek didn't have time to flee. "There's one big difference between those cases and this one."

Throat moving in a gulping swallow, Gesek asked, "What…what's that?"

"In those cases, the robbers took the corpse's jewelry or clothing. They _didn't_ take the body." She was pressed against him now, using her height to intimidate. "Why don't you try again, Mr. Gesek? Tell me what's really going on with Ms. Reyes and your funeral home? Why are you here to pick up her body and not some flunky?"

She could see the sweat beading at his hairline as he struggled to find answers to her rapid-fire questions.

Playing a hunch, Sara asked one last question. "Why didn't you report that someone had been digging up the dearly departed?"

* * *

Sticking her head into the break room, Sara called out, "Anybody seen Catherine?"

"Her office." Nick closed the journal he was reading and stretched. "She offered to do the paperwork on our case. Me? I think she's sick. She never does that."

Maybe upset rather than sick. Sara hoped Catherine wasn't still up in arms over her refusal to come out. "I didn't know CSIs rated an office."

"None of us have the kind of pull with the boss that Cath does," Nick said. His grin helped take the sting out of his words. "Actually, it's a lab way in the back that no one ever uses. Cath camps out there when Grissom makes her catch up on case files." He pointed through the glass walls of the room. "Just head toward Grissom's office and take the last left before you get there. It's all the way at the end."

"Got it. Thanks." With a wave, Sara reversed her path. She and Catherine really needed to talk. The echoing sound of her footsteps didn't help her build confidence. She'd screwed up earlier when she hadn't told Catherine what she wanted to know. That thought migrated from her head to her stomach, sitting there like a burning ember. By the time Sara stood in front of the closed lab door, she seriously considered returning to San Francisco.

Straightening her shoulders and scrubbing her hands on her pants, Sara resolutely reached out and knocked.

"Come in." Catherine's voice was muted by the door.

Even muffled, though, the command sounded simple. Frozen on the outside, Sara didn't agree. This wasn't simple. Not simple at all.

Standing in the hallway wasn't solving her problem, however. Sara turned the handle and slowly opened the door. "Hey, Cath," she said breezily. "You, uh…you ready to go home?"

Catherine looked up from the file on her desk. "Sure. Can you do me a favor, though? I've got a few things to take to the car. Can you grab the package over there, in the corner?" She flashed a bright smile. "The one trying to eat my journals?"

Oh shit. Sara turned her head carefully. Her eyes drifted closed. "About that package, Cath…" she started to say.

The 'package' came over to investigate. Snuffling and snorting, Olivia examined Sara's shoe laces.

"She's very cute, Sara," Catherine commented. "Not really what I imagined for Lindsey's first pet, though. I was thinking maybe goldfish until she's old enough to really take care of a pet. I assume pigs are a lot of work."

Opening her mouth, Sara tried to interrupt.

Catherine didn't give her a chance. "I mean, can you train a pig to use a litter box or do you take them on walks?"

"Cath, I…" She'd said that before. Gritting her teeth, Sara tried a new tack. "She's not a pet." That was better.

Unfortunately, the new information didn't stop Catherine's questions. "You want me and Linds to use Olivia for breakfast tomorrow?"

"No!" Sara nearly shouted.

Her voice startled Olivia. With a loud squeal, she scuttled under Catherine's desk.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I won't let the mean Sara make you into bacon," Catherine crooned. She bent and picked up the pig and cradled her in her arms.

This had gone on far enough. "Catherine, I'm sorry about Olivia."

Two sets of eyes stared at her.

Clearing her throat and wiggling under the dual regard, Sara forged on. "She isn't supposed to provide breakfast. I got her from the RC Farms guy who brings in the…" She couldn't make herself say dissection samples. "…supplies. Olivia is a free pig. He's going to pick her up this afternoon and take her to a petting zoo in Henderson."


	27. Chapter 27

"See that, Olivia? Sara _can_ be a nice person." As Sara watched in shock, Catherine pressed a quick kiss to the pig's head and then looked up with a cheerful smile. "You got me. I wasn't expecting it, and this time, you got me. Next time, though…"

Slowly relaxing, Sara grinned back. "You asked for it, Cath. You know you did. All that talk about Lindsey's pet and introducing me to a book." She walked over and dropped into the chair in front of Catherine's desk. "Now, why don't we take Olivia to her temporary home and grab some breakfast?"

Olivia squealed.

"Hey! I didn't say anything about bacon or other pork products," Sara protested quickly.

When Olivia settled down, Catherine reached out with one hand and began straightening the files and papers on her desk. "Sure. I've got enough paperwork done to keep Gil off my back for another day or two."

Hiding a smirk as Catherine's efforts only made the mess look worse, Sara hopped up. "I'll take Olivia. You need more than one hand to tackle that pile." A dozen might not be enough, but Sara kept that thought to herself.

Catherine regarded her with narrowed eyes. With obvious reluctance, she stood and transferred Olivia into Sara's arms. "If she does anything, Olivia, you just yell," she stage whispered in Olivia's tiny ear.

Grunting and waving feet answered the warning.

With a theatrical sigh, Sara cradled the pig with exaggerated care. "I'll protect her with my life, Cath. I promise." With painfully slow strides, she walked from the room.

Keeping a close eye on Sara's progress, Catherine stopped playing with the files on her desk as soon as the door closed behind the pair. "Looks like Olivia gave you an out, didn't she?" she asked the empty room. Tapping a finger on her lips, she continued to muse aloud. "I hope you don't think our conversation from earlier is finished."

Far from it. Catherine had no intention of letting Sara off the hook.

Still, Catherine acknowledged the need for caution. Sara didn't respond well to pressure – at least not where her emotions were involved. Standing and retrieving her purse and the few files she'd managed to update, Catherine decided that, no matter how hard it might be, she would give Sara time to bring up the topic of her orientation without prodding.

She was still repeating that to herself when Sara returned to the office empty handed.

"Olivia is happily rooting through the sawdust I spread in her crate," Sara announced. Leaning against the doorframe, she tilted her head. "Are you sure you got enough done? I don't want Grissom to blow up another pager trying to get you back to the lab."

Brandishing the file folders, Catherine shook her head. "Abuse. All I get is abuse." She brushed past Sara and stalked in mock irritation down the hallway. "This is twice what I normally turn in. Gil will be so surprised, he might actually do my performance review on time this year."

Sara's snort indicated her disagreement. "Cath, you have what? Four folders? If Grissom does your eval after that, I'd be worried he'd rate you below expectations and transfer you to days."

"That's what you think." With a sunny smile, Catherine ducked into Grissom's office and carefully placed her completed files in the center of his cluttered desk. Returning to the hallway, she continued, "Gil hates paperwork even more than I do. He thinks I'm amazing because I can actually _do_ it." She slung an arm around Sara's waist and leaned in close to whisper, "In fact, Gil has me do his paperwork when the Sheriff starts to complain."

The tiny hairs on the back of Sara's neck came to attention.

Catherine saw the reaction – and refused to pull away this time. She did, however, raise her voice to normal levels and change the subject. "Are you treating me to breakfast or will a bowl of cereal hold you over until after we sleep?"

"I'll treat." Sara's voice squeaked on her answer, and she frowned and cleared her throat. "Cereal may be enough for a ten-year old. Not for me. I need something more substantial."

The opening was too good for Catherine to pass up. "Does that mean the way to your heart is through your stomach?" She considered it a measure of Sara's growing comfort when the other woman didn't freeze or pull away.

Sara tilted her head with a smirk. "You interested? Eddie said you liked 'em butch, but I thought that was the drugs talking."

Hmmm, Sara had made more progress than Catherine had anticipated. Maybe it was time to take the gloves off. "I don't know, Sara." Taking a step away, she halted in the middle of the hallway and raked her eyes over Sara's body. "You don't …"

"Cath! Sara!" Of course. Grissom had the worst timing ever.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Catherine spun to face him as he hurried toward them. "We're heading home, Gil. Make it quick." She wasted no time on pleasantries. Any visit from Grissom this time of day meant overtime, and Catherine had no intention of indulging him.

His eyebrows shot up over the frames of his glasses. "Oh." Grissom stopped a few feet away and shuffled his feet uncertainly. "I got a call from the Undersheriff a few minutes ago." As he started to talk, his enthusiasm grew. "A 419 at the Luxor. I thought we could…"

There it was. Gritting her teeth at Grissom's assumption that she wanted to work another double shift, Catherine overrode the rest of his explanation with a curt, "No. I'm not staying."

She wasn't ready for his look of confusion, or his comment. "I wasn't talking to you, Cath."

* * *

Sara bit her lip to hold back her laugh. The look of complete surprise on Catherine's face was priceless.

"Well?" Grissom's question brought Sara back to business. "Do you want to drive?"

"Uh…" _Did_ she want to drive? Hesitating, Sara looked back and forth between Grissom and Catherine. Grissom was impatient, chomping at the bit to get to work. Catherine, though, was harder to read.

Or was she? Ignoring the way Grissom nearly vibrated with excitement over the case, Sara peered at Catherine. Her shoulders were slightly slumped and was that a pout? Was Catherine that upset about possibly missing breakfast out?

Despite her fear of the personal conversation she assumed Catherine had planned for them, Sara said, "Sorry, Gris. I'm with Cath on this one. I'm not staying, either."

If she had said the world was ending, Grissom couldn't have been more shocked. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed a strangled, "Oh. OK." He took a few steps backward, peering at Sara intently. "Are you sure? This case sounded really interesting."

"No, Grissom." Refusing him was easier the second time. Sara grabbed Catherine's arm. "We're going to breakfast and then heading home." Then she had a better plan. "Actually, I think we'll pick Lindsey up and _then_ get breakfast."

She felt Catherine's arm twitch in her grasp. "Sara?" Catherine asked softly. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Deliberately misunderstanding Catherine's concern, Sara said, "You were the one who warned me about Grissom and the way he took over your life. I'm simply taking your advice and avoiding that." She began dragging Catherine down the hallway and away from a still-staring Grissom.

They exited the building into the already-bright morning. "That wasn't what I meant," Catherine murmured as they made their way to her Tahoe. "You don't have to prove anything, Sara."

"I'm not." It was the truth. Sara released Catherine's arm and climbed into the vehicle. "I figured you and Lindsey don't get to spend a lot of quality time together. We left on time, Cath," she continued, pointing to the dashboard clock. "That gives us a chance to wake Lindsey up and find a restaurant close to her school."

As the Tahoe started to back away from the parking bumper and Catherine hadn't replied, Sara's new-found confidence began to crumble.

"If we do this, you know Lindsey will pester us every day for family breakfasts." Catherine's lips lifted in a smile. "And I'm going to tell her it was all your idea."

A shiver worked its way through Sara at that. A constant barrage of questions and pleas. Sara ignored that nightmare image and concentrated, instead, on the memory of Lindsey's intense and serious look as she'd promised to keep Sara's secret at the park. "Bring it on, Cath. I can take it." The knot in her stomach and the pounding of her heart warned Sara she might be overreaching.

Catherine maneuvered the big vehicle swiftly away from the Strip. The entire time, she didn't say a word. She did, however, glance at Sara every few seconds.

Taking a stab at guessing Catherine's question, Sara said abruptly, "I'll be fine with Lindsey, Cath. And if I'm not, I'll take a trip to the bathroom. I'm not going to freak out in front of her."

Now she got a full-on look from Catherine. "I'm not worried about that at all, Sara."

Oh. Slumping back in the seat and blushing, Sara mumbled, "Then why all the funny looks?"

"Well, let's see." Catherine's voice was soft and serious, and Sara braced for the worst. "In the last half hour, you've relaxed enough to flirt with me, told your mentor no when he wanted to drag you to a crime scene, _and_ decided to take my daughter to breakfast."

Sara sensed the other shoe about to drop.

It hit the carpeted floor of the Tahoe with a pronounced thump when Catherine asked, "Does that mean you're ready to talk about what happened in the observation room, too?"


	28. Chapter 28

Sara gave a short laugh. "You aren't going to let that go, are you?" She hadn't expected it – even if a reprieve would be nice.

"No." Catherine smiled wryly. "I told myself I was going to, though, if that helps."

This time, Sara's laugh was genuine. "It does, actually." Grinning, she turned in the seat until she had a better view of Catherine. She grew more serious. "You already know the truth, Cath. How will my saying the words out loud change that?" Sara asked, really wanting to know.

"It isn't about you being gay, Sara. It's about trust." Catherine slowed for an upcoming turn. "And even great investigators like me make mistakes when it comes to sexual orientation."

Sara couldn't resist. "So you not only make mistakes, but you have faulty gaydar?"

The joke fell flat. Catherine shot her an impatient glance before looking back at the road. "You really don't want to talk about this, do you? Why?" Then she shook her head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. When you get over your trust issues, you know where to find me."

Lapsing into silence, Sara stared at her fisted hands as the rested on her thighs. Why was this so hard? She'd told David out of the blue. Catherine already knew. She simply needed to hear the words.

Trust.

That one word. Sara's knuckles were white. That one tiny word. David's reaction – if it had gone badly – would have hurt, but Sara would have gotten over that. They didn't work closely together. They didn't live in the same house. And… Closing her eyes, Sara let the words whisper in her own mind, she wasn't attracted to David.

"I'm gay." The words were soft yet firm, and Sara's hands slowly uncurled as the coiled tension released. "I'm a lesbian, Cath."

There was no immediate response, and Sara watched Catherine closely.

"Thank you," Catherine finally said. She reached across the console and patted Sara's hand. "Until today, I hadn't realized how difficult it might be to say that."

"Yeah, that case hit home." Sara stretched her legs out as far as she could. "It happens a lot, Cath, that coworker who can't understand that being a lesbian means you aren't interested in men."

Catherine's hand, still resting on Sara's, squeezed gently. "Did it happen to you?"

A slow, disbelieving smile touched Sara's lips. "You know, you're the only person who's ever asked me that." She turned her palm over and briefly entwined their fingers. Staring at their joined hands, Sara closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of Catherine's fingers. "No, Cath. It didn't."

* * *

Sara had touched her. Willingly. Afraid to shatter the moment, Catherine remained silent and still.

"Anyway," Sara said after a moment, "do you feel better now that you know?" Her fingers slipped out of Catherine's, and she turned slightly in the seat.

Drawing her hand back across the car, Catherine restrained an urge to pump her fist in triumph. Sara had touched her. Instead, she smirked and met amused brown eyes. "Hell, yeah.

Her comment got a laugh and a finger pointed in her direction. "You, Catherine Willows, need to back off the competition."

Catherine grinned and made the turn onto Nancy's street. "Life is one big game, Sara. It's win or go home in a pine box." She didn't bother elaborating on which option she preferred.

The laughter got louder.

"What? Trying to measure me for a casket?" Cocking an eyebrow in Sara's direction, Catherine parked in front of her sister's house and turned off the engine. "That's just cold, Sara. Cold. I'm going to tell Gil to keep an eye on you in case I suddenly go missing."

"I'll tell you after breakfast. It isn't something Lindsey needs to hear." Sara opened her door and climbed out, leaving a bemused Catherine behind.

Shaking her head, Catherine followed Sara out of the Tahoe and up the front walk. "Now who sounds like a mother?" she mocked gently. "You have hidden talents, Sara Sidle. What else do you have locked away in that complicated head of yours?"

Sara stopped in front of the door while Catherine fished her keys out of her purse. "What's the matter, Cath? Now that the big secret is out, there has to be more for you to uncover?" She leaned a shoulder against the siding, head tilted.

Avoiding the question, Catherine unlocked the door and put her finger over her lips. They were about an hour earlier than she knew Nancy got the kids up. She really didn't want to face an angry Nancy before she had breakfast.

Her ploy was only partially successful. Sara gave her a narrow-eyed look that promised the subject wouldn't be forgotten.

The interior of the house was quiet and dark. Footsteps creaked on the second floor. Nancy must be up, getting ready for the start of the day. "Stay here. I'll be right back," Catherine said softly to Sara.

"Cath…" Sara's voice was low and exasperated. "I'm not going to run screaming. Really."

"I didn't think you were, Sara." Catherine stopped her trek toward Lindsey and Jeremy's shared bedroom. "But Jeremy's a light sleeper and I didn't want to wake him up."

She bit back a grin at Sara's chagrined look and quiet, "Oh. I didn't think of that."

"Good. I'd feel intimidated if you thought of _everything_," Catherine teased. "If you're feeling so helpful this morning, why don't you leave a note for Nancy in the kitchen? There's a whiteboard and dry erase marker by the phone. If we don't I'm liable to get a panicked call when she finds Linds missing."

Sara took a step toward the kitchen and then paused. "There are no kids in the kitchen, right?" The gap between her teeth was barely visible in the dim light.

Fighting a laugh, Catherine arched an eyebrow and pointed a single finger at the kitchen. "No, Sara. There are no children in there. It's early. All the kids in this house are still sleeping."

"Good. That's good." Still grinning, Sara walked with exaggerated strides around the living room furniture, peering comically around as if looking for hidden kids.

Catherine gave in and chuckled as she left Sara to her hunt. It was a short walk down the hallway to Jeremy's room. Once there, she gently opened the door and stepped inside. Two nightlights lit the otherwise dark room and the bunk beds jammed against the far wall.

Jeremy snored softly from the top bunk. One leg and part of his blanket dangled over the edge. Lindsay, though, looked more like a cocoon. The only parts of her that Catherine could see were a few unruly strands of blonde hair.

"Linds," Catherine whispered as she dropped to her knees next to the bed.

Two sleep-encrusted eyes fluttered open. "Mommy?'

"Good morning, sweetie. Sara and I stopped by to take you to breakfast." Only Catherine's well-honed maternal reflexes got her hand over Lindsay's mouth in time to smother her excited squeal.

Lindsay's eyes immediately shot upward.

They both waited tensely until another round of loud and heavy breathing announced Jeremy hadn't heard their exchange.

"Come on. Let's get you dressed." Enjoying the rare chance to be with Lindsay for her morning routines, Catherine picked up her daughter's warm and pliant body and carried her to the door.

"Don't forget my bag, Mommy." Lindsay wiggled until Catherine reluctantly set her down. "And I'm not going to breakfast in my jammies." Even in a whisper, Lindsay's scorn was apparent.

Holding her hands out in silent apology, Catherine waited while Lindsay chose the perfect outfit from the chest of drawers and looped her backpack over one shoulder. "Are you ready now?" she asked, pretending to look at her watch. "We might not have time to eat; it's getting really late."

Tiny hands planted on narrow hips. "Mo-om," Lindsay drawled out in warning.

"I'm just saying. If we have to skip breakfast, it's all your fault. You just _had_ to pick the right clothes." With a dramatic sigh, Catherine opened the door and pulled Lindsay into the hall. She gestured at the bathroom farther along the hallway. "Get moving, young lady. I was only teasing about missing breakfast, but you can't take too long."

Lindsay nodded and took off her backpack. "Here. I don't need this yet." She took one step down the hall and stopped. "Mommy, why are you here and not at work?"

The blunt and totally unexpected question rocked Catherine. "Sweetie, I don't work all the time." She didn't, did she? Pushing away thoughts of all the double shifts she's pulled in the last few weeks, Catherine gently shoved Lindsay toward the bathroom. "My shift ends at seven, Linds. Sometimes I just get held up for a while, that's all."

"Cool. I'm glad you didn't get held up today." Lindsay ran down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Catherine remained frozen in place. Maybe she'd overreacted to the question. Lindsay hadn't seemed upset, just curious.

She was still there, wrestling with her conscience and the truth, when a blonde rocket flew back down the hallway. "Ready, Mommy!"

Catherine staggered and nearly tripped over the book bag at her feet. "I don't know about ready, Miss Willows. You just seem heavy to me." Groaning and moaning in pretend strain, Catherine snagged the backpack and carried Lindsay to the living room.

It was empty.

"I think we have to rescue Sara before breakfast, Linds," Catherine said. "She was supposed to leave a note for your aunt and then meet us here, but she seems to be lost."

Lindsay snorted. "I bet you forgot to tell her where Aunt Nancy keeps the dry erase markers, Mom."

Shaking her head at the inaccurate statement, Catherine disagreed. "I was almost distracted by the thought of waking a beautiful princess and telling her that her feast awaited; however, I managed to remember just in time."

"You're silly, Mommy." Lindsay reached up and wrapped her arms around Catherine's neck. "Now, come on. Let's find Sara. I'm hungry."

Catherine shifted Lindsay into a comfortable position against her hip and walked into Nancy's kitchen. She stopped as soon as she rounded the refrigerator and spotted Sara.

Leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, Sara glanced away from a bathrobed Nancy. "I didn't find any kids, Cath."


	29. Chapter 29

"Good morning, Nance." Catherine smirked at Sara's discomfort. "We came to steal Lindsey."

Tightening the belt on her robe, Nancy said, "I got that from the note Sara was scrawling on the white board." Catherine saw her shoot Sara a wry look. "And do me a favor, Cath, stop telling your friends horror stories about me. I couldn't get a word out of her after the scream."

"Mommy doesn't tell stories, Aunt Nancy." Lindsey hopped up and down. "I do. But I never told Sara anything about you. I bet you gave her one of your Morning Looks and she got scared like me and Jeremy." Then she got tired of the subject. "Did you hear? I get to have breakfast with Mommy and Sara." Lindsey stopped bouncing and shot across the kitchen to wrap her tiny arms around Sara.

Catherine took a step forward, ready to pry Lindsey loose if Sara started to panic.

Although Sara didn't return the exuberant hug, Catherine realized her assistance wasn't needed. A little pale and stiff looking, Sara had her hands pressed to Lindsey's shoulders. "Looks like you've been demoted, Nancy. Sara's the new love of Linds' life."

Nancy laughed and opened the refrigerator. "Darn. Does that mean Sara gets to drag our girl out of bed for school and fix breakfast every morning, too?" Her head peered over the door. "Please?"

Voice only slightly shaky, Sara responded, "Sorry. No. If I did the cooking, we'd all starve – or die from ptomaine." She gently pried Lindsey's arms away from her body. "I do most of my eating out of bags."

* * *

Sara wasn't expecting the stern glare from Lindsey. "That kind of food will kill you," Lindsey announce firmly.

Biting her lip, Sara watched the little girl plant both hands on her hips in a perfect mimicry of her mother.

The lecture wasn't over, however. "You need to eat fruits and vegetables, Sara. Mommy says that's important." Lindsey unbent a little. "I'll draw you a picture of the food pyramid so you can do better."

Two choked off laughs nearly eroded the last of Sara's control. Her lips twitched and her body trembled with harnessed mirth. She glared at Nancy and Catherine for their reactions.

Both immediately pasted on matching looks of pure innocence.

"Right. Like I believe those," Sara grumbled.before looking back and Lindsey.

Two pools of blue sucked her in.

Completely unaware of her actions, Sara brushed some hair out of Lindsey's face. "I tell you what…" Her voice seemed lodged halfway between her chest and her mouth so she cleared her throat. "If your mom will teach me to cook, I'll make you breakfast on the days I'm off." She made the offer while struggling with a pounding heart and tiny black dots dancing in front of her eyes.

Her reward was another bone crushing hug.

Sara was in trouble. The room started to waver and her skin cycled from ice cold to near melting repeatedly. She looked up at Catherine frantically.

Unfortunately, Catherine wasn't looking in her direction.

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, Sara woodenly patted Lindsey's shoulder. She had to keep the little girl from figuring out anything was wrong. She had to. "Why…why don't we…" Her voice squeaked and then wavered as she choked the words out. "Why don't we get going?" she finally managed in a rush.

"Cool!" The arms around Sara's waist disappeared as Lindsey hurtled across the kitchen. "I'm ready – and hungry, too. Come on, Mommy. Stop helping Aunt Nancy with breakfast."

The kitchen stopped undulating. Sara wiped a trembling hand across her forehead, swiping at the clammy sweat clinging to her bangs. "Yeah, Cath. What's the deal? You promised me breakfast out." Proud that her voice was firm again, Sara took an easier breath. She could do this.

"Nancy's Kitchen _is _eating out…out of our house, anyway." Catherine looked up with a grin.

Seeing Lindsey's pouting lip, Sara followed suite. She felt ridiculous with her lower lip protruding, but she watched Catherine closely.

It was working. Catherine's eyes darted to Lindsey and then to Sara before skittering away. "Um…" She wiggled and avoided further eye contact.

"Moooomy, you promised," Lindsey whined.

Still playing Follow the Leader, Sara forced her voice into a high-pitched tone. "Caaaath, you promised." The band around her chest loosened further when she caught the hint of a smile on Catherine's face.

Nancy simply laughed out loud. "God, Cath. You finally got what you deserve. Look at those two."

"I am looking, Nance. That's the problem." Catherine dropped the silverware in her hand onto the counter. "And because I looked, I'm leaving. The bottomless pits have spoken." She put one hand on Lindsey's shoulder and the other on Sara's lower back. "Where am I taking you, ladies?"

Before Sara could tell Lindsey to make the decision, the little girl chirped. "The IHOP. It's Stuffed French Toast Week!" Running for the door, Lindsey left Catherine and Sara to make their own way to the Tahoe.

"She's painfully shy, Cath," Sara teased. "I really had to push her to say anything and make a decision." She shook her head as they walked out of the house. "I think Lindsey's going to struggle with making up her mind."

"Are you sure?" Catherine played along. "It must be in the genes. I've always been wishy-washy."

She'd managed that with a straight face. Sara started laughing. "Yes. I noticed that right away," she said between chuckles. "Grissom should have fired you a long time ago, Cath. I'm sorry; it's true. Forty-five minutes to choose the right pair of gloves?"

They got to the SUV. Lindsey was already inside, bouncing in her seat so the large vehicle rocked noticeably. Catherine grabbed the driver's side door handle. "You can't ever take too long on gloves, Sara. It's an art. What if you choose the wrong pair and they don't match your outfit?"

* * *

Catherine was glad Sara seemed fine as they entered the restaurant. Maybe breakfast with Lindsey _hadn't_ been a bad idea. "Ok, Linds. Sara's buying so feel free to get whatever you want."

She calmly ignored the death glare Sara shot her way.

"Mommy, I told you what I wanted. Stuffed French toast." Lindsey shook her head. "You need to get some sleep. You always act funny when you're tired."

Cheeks burning from the sharply delivered rebuke, Catherine picked up a menu and attempted to hide behind it.

Unfortunately, Sara didn't let that happen. "How funny does she get, Lindsey?" she asked. Catherine could hear the laughter through the lingering stiffness in Sara's voice. "Does she dance and sing? Or forget where she put things?"

Peering over the top of the menu, Catherine tried to warn Lindsey not to talk with a glare. Lindsey pretended not to see it. She giggled and leaned across the table toward Sara. "One time, she left her shirt in the bedroom."

Catherine looked frantically around the nearly-deserted IHOP. Where was the waitress when she needed her? Seeing a lone woman straightening menus near the cash register, she waved her arm to get her attention.

The woman waved back and held up a single finger.

No! Catherine wanted to pound her head on the table at the gesture. She didn't want to wait a minute. In a minute, Sara would ask for more details – and Lindsey would give them to her.

"She left her shirt in the bedroom?" Sure enough, Sara wasn't letting the conversation go. "Why is that bad? Unless..." She grinned and Catherine stared at the gap between Sara's teeth and knew there was no way to stop this from ending badly. "Was your Uncle Gil there?"

Lindsey shook her head so hard her hair flew around her face. "Oh, no. Not this time."

Catherine tried another wave, but the woman didn't even glance her way.

"This time, she got all the way to the car in just her pants and bra," Lindsey said, delivering the coup de grace.

Two giggles erupted, and Catherine dropped her menu onto her lap and put her elbows on the table. Burying her face in her hands, she decided she should have told Grissom _she'd_ work the overtime. It would have been less embarrassing than this.

"Hey." A leg bumped into her side. "Come on, Cath. It's funny," Sara said.

Catherine peered warily between her fingers. "No, it's not."

She received a cute eye roll and another nudge. "Yeah, it is. You're always so in control. I like knowing you aren't perfect all the time." Staying close, Sara pulled Catherine's menu off her legs and set it in the middle of the table. "Now, Lindsey wants French toast."

A soft throat-clearing sounded from the other side of the table.

"Um…stuffed French toast," Sara corrected. "I'm ordering something called garden stuffed crepes. What do you want?"


	30. Chapter 30

The question hung between them for a second before Catherine decided how to respond. Reaching for her menu (now clutched in Sara's hands), she inched across the booth toward the other woman. "I think you know the answer to that," she said throatily.

Sara's eyes shot open – and then across the table to Lindsey. "Cath! What are you…" she hissed.

Smirking, Catherine interrupted the panicked question. "Like mother, like daughter, right, Linds?" She raised her voice on the last two words.

Head popping up from the color-it-yourself placemat she'd been decorating, Lindsey nodded. "Yeah. That's how I knew Mommy would bring us here, Sara. She _loves_ stuffed French toast."

"Oh." The tide of red crawling up Sara's face and neck had Catherine cautiously scooting away. "I have one word for you, Cath." Sara paused.

Maybe she'd gone too far. Over Sara's head, Catherine saw the waitress finally approaching. Help was on the way.

"What?" she asked reluctantly, not convinced she really wanted to hear the answer.

Now it was Sara who leaned in close. Her warm breath caressed Catherine's cheek. "Olivia."

It was so unexpected, Catherine jerked slightly. Then she smacked Sara on the arm. "You aren't ever going to let me live that down, are you?"

Sara didn't have time to answer. Pad and pen at the ready, the waitress hovered at the end of the table.

* * *

Leaning back in the booth, Sara watched Lindsey order for herself and Catherine. Her voice seemed to disappear in the large, nearly empty restaurant.

It didn't get lost for Sara, though.

Even with the table separating them, Sara was hyper-aware of every move and sound Lindsey made. She heard Lindsey's sharp and irritated breath when the waitress asked her to repeat a part of the order…the squeak of the seat as Lindsey knelt up to lean closer to the waitress…

The noise drowned out even the rapid pounding of Sara's heart. Pressing both hands flat on the table, Sara gritted her teeth. This was stupid. _She_ was stupid. Lindsey hadn't done anything scarier than hug her, and Sara was _still_ almost running away in terror.

Lindsey must have felt Sara watching. She looked up with a huge smile before returning to her task of ordering.

That simple smile was enough.

Without saying a word, Sara forced her frozen muscles to move. Sliding out of the booth, she fled in search of the restroom. Sara burst into the tiny room and slammed the door behind her.

"Fuck!" Sara fought for breath, sucking in huge gulps of air through the tightness in her throat. If she'd had any oxygen to spare, she would have screamed. Why? Why did Lindsey do this to her?

There was no answer to her silent query.

Still struggling to breath, Sara closed her eyes. The darkness surrounded her, and she relaxed enough to try opening her eyes.

The bathroom was gone. It was dark and hot and it smelled like wool.

Shivering, Sara scooted farther into the closet and huddled in the far corner. Plastic-shrouded dresses and coats pressed close to her face. They made the already stifling closet nearly suffocating. Her panting breaths echoed, and Sara tried to silence them. Her father might hear…

Footsteps thudded in an irregular pattern outside her haven.

Sara stopped breathing altogether. He was so close. Pressing her face to her upraised knees, she tried to become invisible.

"Sara!" She bit back a scream as he shouted her name.

"Sara? Are you OK in there?" A sharp rap shattered the flashback.

Blinking dazedly in the bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom, Sara called out, "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute, Cath." Stumbling to the sink, she turned on the cold tap and thrust both hands under the water. Her hands and wrists went numb in seconds. Shivering convulsively, she filled her cupped palms and splashed water on her face.

Sara repeated the gesture several times and then scrubbed her hands over her cheeks. In the garish bathroom lighting, her face was a sickly yellow with bright red patches where her hands hand been.

It would have to do. Sara pushed away from the sink and turned off the water. She carefully dried her hands and face, even swiping one of the rough paper towels over the back of her neck to mop up the remaining sweat. Chest tight and aching, she strode to the door on stiff legs.

* * *

The door sprang open, and Catherine immediately straightened from her position against the wall. "Sara?"

"I told you I'd be right out, Cath," Sara responded. Her voice was rough and low.

Noting Sara's pallor, Catherine stepped closer and gently put her palm against Sara's cheek. "Hey, I thought we put your butch tendencies away? I want to know – are you alright?"

For a second, Catherine didn't think Sara would respond. Sara's eyes darkened nearly to black, and her skin was cold under Catherine's hand. "I'm OK," she finally mumbled. "I think." Reaching up, Sara grasped Catherine's wrist. "I had a moment, though, that's for sure."

"Want me to get our food to go?" Not even breakfast with Lindsey was worth pushing Sara to her limits.

"No," Sara said, sounding a little better. At least until they walked around a corner and saw Lindsey waving at them. Catherine heard the distinct sound of Sara's breathing hitch. Sara never paused, though. She continued to stride toward the table and Catherine followed, hands fisted from the effort of _not_ touching her.

Their food was on the table. "Did you get lost or something, Sara? That's twice Mommy had to find you today," Lindsey said with a headshake. "Sit down and eat before your food gets cold. Cold eggs are _nasty_."

Any other time, Catherine would have laughed. Lindsey sounded just like Nancy. However, nothing was particularly funny right now. "You know how long it takes me in the bathroom, Lindsey. Makeup, hair…I have to look good all the time," she said to give Sara an out.

Sara stood woodenly by the table as Catherine sidled by and slid in. Catherine felt her muscles twitch when Catherine brushed against her. When Sara dropped into the booth, she left at least a foot between then and stared at the table as she ate her omelet.

"Sara, are you sick again?" Lindsey asked. "You look kinda funny."

"Lindsey!" Catherine protested immediately. "That wasn't nice. Leave Sara alone and eat your breakfast." She glanced at Sara in concern. Sara _did_ look funny: pale, with sweat standing visibly on her face. "Sara and I have been up all night. You'd look funny, too, if you worked our crazy hours."

Since they'd had similar conversations before, Lindsey thankfully let the matter drop. She went back to eating, smearing syrup and creamed cheese on her face in the process. "That's always your excuse, Mommy. You need a new one."

This time, Catherine couldn't help laughing. "Sorry, honey. You may be right. I sound like a broken record. How about we watch a movie tonight before bedtime and you can help me with that?"

She got a head bob as Lindsey chewed another massive bite.

"I'll bring the popcorn if I'm invited," Sara said softly.

Catherine choked on her food and swiveled around in her booth. "Sara, enough is enough. You don't have to…" she started to say. She was too slow.

"Can you add M&Ms, too? I like M&Ms with my popcorn," Lindsey chirped.

Sara seemed to go even paler at that. "I can. Are you…are you sure you should eat chocolate and popcorn together? Isn't that a violation of that food pyramid you mentioned at your aunt's house?"

"You can't follow that all the time, silly." Lindsey frowned. "You need to talk to Mommy. She can explain how it works."

Before Lindsey could continue her lecture, Catherine made a show of looking at her watch. "Honey, we need to hurry. It's almost time for you to start school." She grabbed the check from the table and bumped her hip against Sara's. "Here, you take the check and my card. I'll get some boxes for our food." She hadn't even managed a bite of her own, and Sara's omelet was mostly intact.

"Nah, I got this one." Sara took the paper bill from her hand and hurried off.

"Well, that was rude, huh?" Catherine asked Lindsey. "I offered to pay." She winked at Lindsey while keeping a close eye on Sara at the register. She wasn't convinced Sara was alright, no matter how much she pretended. Flagging down a busboy, Catherine managed to finagle two Styrofoam containers and loaded up their uneaten breakfasts. "Let's go, Linds. I don't want your teacher to give me dirty looks when I drop you off after the bell."

* * *

She managed to avoid that look by seconds as she wheeled the Tahoe into the lot. Lindsey hopped out and sprinted up to the door with a wave of her hand. "I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine said as she watched Lindsey disappear inside.

"For what?" The question was automatic. Catherine had no doubt Sara knew exactly what she'd meant.

Letting the comment go for the moment, Catherine got back on the road and headed for home. The silence was uncomfortable. Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Catherine tried to hold back her questions. She and Sara had made huge strides today. And - she looked across the SUV – Sara didn't look up to anything more than huddling in the seat.

"I'll be fine, you know." Sara opened her eyes. "You don't have to worry, Cath."

"I'm a mother…_and_ your friend. I'm going to worry, Sara. It's a given." Catherine did relax, though. Sara's voice was stronger and her color was getting better. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Shaking her head, Sara mumbled through a yawn, "Nope. Just get me home and let me eat a bottle of painkiller. I'm going to have one hell of a headache as soon as I stop shaking."


	31. Chapter 31

Somehow, Sara's comment didn't make Catherine feel any better. "One bottle of pain killer coming up," she promised. "Anything else? Hot water bottle? A pound of chocolate? A bedtime story?"

That got a tiny grin. "Sure, Cath. I'd love for you to read to me. I have an entire closet of journals I haven't had a chance to go through. I bet you could make even the article on genotype frequencies interesting."

"Of course I can, honey. That isn't the goal, though. The goal is to put you to sleep." Catherine divided her attention between the road and Sara. There was at least a little color creeping back into the other woman's face. "Maybe I should skip the bedtime story for now – unless you have something guaranteed to put you out."

A jaw-cracking yawn indicated Catherine was on the right track. "Probably a good plan," Sara mumbled through a second, smaller yawn. "I'm definitely on the way to a huge crash. Just steer me to the couch; the bedroom's too far."

Stepping on the accelerator, Catherine hoped she managed to get Sara _that_ far. From the increased slump in Sara's form, Sara might try sleeping in the car. "Stay with me for a little longer, honey," Catherine pleaded as she dodged a slow-moving car. "I was only joking about the gym earlier. I doubt I could drag you to the house without your cooperation."

"'k." Sara shoved away from the door and sat more or less erect. "Sorry, Cath. Didn't mean to ruin your time with Lindsey."

"It's not about that, Sara," Catherine was quick to protest. She reached over the console with her right hand and touched Sara's thigh. "It's about what this is doing to you. I'm worried." She figured Sara would pull away at her admission; that didn't keep her from making it, though.

The leg under her palm tightened. "I'm fine, Cath. Really." Catherine stifled a sigh at the defensive protest. "Give me a little time. There haven't been a lot of chances to hang out with kids before."

Although she wasn't convinced time was all Sara needed, Catherine didn't push anymore. She'd done enough of that today. "Take all the time you need, Sara." Stroking her hand up and down Sara's leg, she turned the Tahoe onto a side street a few blocks from the house.

Sara didn't respond.

Glancing her way, Catherine raised an eyebrow at the rapt way Sara stared at the hand resting on her thigh. "I didn't think…I'm sorry." She pulled her hand back, placing it on the wheel. "Personal space isn't in my vocabulary."

"Never would have guessed," Sara mocked dryly. She grinned when Catherine glowered in her direction. "And you didn't need to apologize. It felt good. Different. Most people keep their distance after I come out – like you can catch being a lesbian."

Catherine had to laugh. "Honey, if being married to Eddie didn't make me gay, nothing would." The house was up ahead so she shelved the topic for later. "Home, sweet home. Let's get you tucked in, Sara. Discussing my fantastic former husband can wait until we're both wide awake and working our way through at least our second drink."

More yawns punctuated the last few minutes of the drive. Lesbianism might not be catching, Catherine thought ruefully, but yawning was. She covered her mouth and blinked her suddenly watery eyes after a particularly jaw-popping example.

"Maybe you should take the couch," Sara murmured. "You don't look much more awake than me."

That did it. Catherine clenched her teeth together against any more displays of fatigue and shook her head. "I'm fine. You've just been sucking up all the oxygen in here." She parked the Tahoe to the sound of Sara's chuckles. "Now, stay there until I come around to help. I don't want you collapsing on the sidewalk; the neighbors would call the police."

Not waiting for an objection to her order, Catherine hopped out of the vehicle and trotted to the passenger side.

Sara already had her door open and her legs dangled as she wearily climbed out of the seat. "I'd kick your ass for that comment…" She yawned. "If I wasn't afraid you were right. Damn it!" Slamming her hand into the dash in frustration, Sara leaned against the door frame. "I hate this."

It was another opportunity for questions – and Catherine let it pass. "You'll hate it less once we drug you up and tuck you in." Flinging Sara's arm over her shoulder, Catherine levered the taller woman away from the SUV and closed the door.

The long pathway to the front door had never seemed longer.

Sara stumbled up the concrete steps and listed heavily in Catherine's partial embrace. "Sorry," she slurred. "The moving…hurts."

Catherine spared a glance at Sara. She was ghost-white and her eyes were dark and glassy. "We're almost there, honey." Thank God. One more short rise and she propped Sara against the side of the house long enough to dig the keys from her purse. As soon as the door opened, Catherine wrapped her arms around Sara again and maneuvered them inside.

She was sweating almost as much as Sara when they dropped onto the couch in a tangle of arms and legs. "Sorry for the rough landing," Catherine gasped out.

One of Sara's hands patted at her arm, but she didn't say anything. Now that she wasn't upright, Sara huddled into the cushions – and Catherine – with her eyes closed.

"I'll be right back with the Advil, Sara." Catherine carefully wiggled out from beneath Sara and hurried to the bathroom down the hall. Whipping open the mirrored medicine cabinet, she grabbed the large bottle of pills. The lid popped off, and Catherine poured a couple of the brown tablets into her other palm.

How many should she take?

Sara's pinched and pale features hovered in front of her eyes. She'd take the entire bottle. The loose pills and lid still clutched in her hand, Catherine spun and jogged back down the hall. She was almost to the living room when she realized Sara didn't have anything with which to take the pills.

She swerved into the kitchen. One can of Diet Coke later, Catherine strode up to the couch. "Here, Sara. How many do you want?" If Sara asked for all of them, Catherine wasn't sure she would argue. The lines of pain bracketing Sara's mouth scared her.

Catherine didn't really expect an answer, though, and she didn't get one. A single hand shakily extended between them, palm up.

Pressing the loose Advil into Sara's hand, Catherine set the soda on the coffee table and pried the lid off the bottle of pills. She poured two more out. "Here. Take four now." When Sara tried to grab the bottle, Catherine made a decision and shook her head. Safety first. "No. You start with four. If those – and sleep – don't help, I'll take you to the ER."

Sara glared wordlessly for a second before tossing back the painkiller.

"Good girl." Catherine popped open the can of soda and held it against Sara's lips. "As soon as you get this down, I'll grab a blanket and some pillows."

Taking a few gulps, Sara finally pulled away. "Thanks, Cath. I'll be fine." She wiggled on the couch until she was braced against the high back and closed her eyes. "Just need some sleep, I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Sara," Catherine replied softly. She stayed on the couch until Sara's soft and even breathing announced she'd fallen asleep.

* * *

Sara took an internal inventory when she woke up. She started at the top. Her head ached. Not the nausea-causing agony from earlier, though. Only an irritating and recurring dull throb. A few more Advil and the breakfast she'd skipped would help with that.

The rest of her was warm and comfortable. Taking a deep breath, she rolled over and carefully opened her eyes. Darkness sprinkled with a few rays of errant sunlight filled the living room.

Now the big test.

Sara gripped the back of the couch and sat up in slow motion. The room didn't fade out; although, the pounding in her head did pick up its tempo. So far, so good. She tried not to hold her breath or flinch as she swung her legs around and set her feet on the floor.

This time, the room did spin. Not because of her headache. Because Catherine sat huddled under a blanket in the armchair across the room, sound asleep.

"Damn it, Cath, why didn't you go upstairs?" Sara asked under her breath. Guilt settled like a rock in her stomach. Since Catherine was too busy snoring to answer, Sara stretched and then checked her watch. "Damn." It was three-thirty. Lindsey and Nancy would be home in less than an hour. "Cath," she said. Her voice was too rusty to have any volume. Frowning, Sara stood up on stiff legs and stumbled to Catherine's side. "Hey, Cath." She lightly shook the other woman's shoulder. "Come on. You need to move upstairs if you want to sleep. Lindsey'll be home soon."

"Hmmm…" Catherine didn't open her eyes as she wiggled and rolled over in the cramped space of the chair. Her sleep-tangled hair brushed Sara's arm before her cheek came to rest against the same spot.

Sara stared at the top of Catherine's head. This wasn't happening. This was a dream. Her skin tingled and grew warm from Catherine's body heat. Not a dream at all. "Cath," Sara tried again. Her voice was softer than before. The need to wake Catherine warred with a sudden desire to remain right where she was.

She might have stood there until Lindsey flew through the door if Catherine hadn't responded to her half-hearted second attempt.

Rubbing her face against Sara's arm, Catherine sighed and then opened her eyes. "Good morning," Catherine said in a sleep-roughened voice. "Did you sleep OK?"

That was it? That was all she wanted to know? Sara had stiffened the second Catherine began to move. Body responding to Catherine's every move, Sara prayed she could talk normally. "Pretty good, yeah." Her voice matched Catherine's for roughness even though she'd been awake for several minutes. "It's almost time for Linds to come home. I thought you might want to move upstairs before then." Catherine hadn't put any distance between them, and Sara started to edge back. She needed to get away before Catherine noticed her reaction.

"In a minute." Catherine sat up and yawned. "Sit down first and talk to me." She patted the arm of her chair. "Linds won't freak if she finds up sleeping in the living room. Some days I fall asleep out here after cleaning the house.

"Um…" Sara stalled. Sitting that close was a bad idea – at least until she got control of her libido. "Why don't I warm up our breakfasts and we can talk over food?" she asked, even though she wasn't really hungry anymore.

Catherine pointed to an end table. "I don't think the leftovers are fit to eat, Sara. I forgot to put them in the refrigerator when we got home." Tilting her head, she peered at Sara with more alertness. "Is something wrong? Are you still feeling shaky?"


	32. Chapter 32

"No, of course not," Sara replied immediately. It was the truth…mostly. "You surprised me, that's all. One minute you're drooling and the next you're gripping my hand and talking." She tried a smile even though her face felt stiff. "I'm amazed I didn't scream."

Catherine didn't quite roll her eyes; it was close, though. "Uh huh. Well, I'm sorry if I scared you." Sitting up and releasing Sara's arm, she rubbed her eyes. "I don't know about you, but I could do with another day or two of sleep. All those double shifts are catching up to me."

Her eyes tracking Catherine's every movement, Sara's head bobbed in time with Catherine's fingers. "Yeah."

The fingers parted and blue eyes peered up at her. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Fine." Sara grimaced. Even she didn't believe that. Stepping away from Catherine, she returned to sit on the couch. "I'm fine, Cath. I've got a slight headache, and you really did shock me when you woke up." Just not for the reason she'd mentioned. Her arm tingled where Catherine's face had rubbed. Taking a slow breath, Sara felt her heart rate drop. To give herself more time to recover her composure, she tilted her head at the stairs. "Why don't you hit the shower first, and I'll see about making us something to eat."

Sara waited, shifting uneasily, as Catherine merely looked at her. "I'm not hungry," Catherine finally answered.

"Oh." Sara wasn't either. Now she didn't know what to say or do. The silence lengthened and grew awkward. "Um…maybe I'll start with a shower. Get rid of the last of the headache." And work on not sounding like an idiot. Sara stood swiftly and edged toward the hallway.

"Sara…" She stopped and turned to look at Catherine. "Honey, one day you're going to have to quit running away." Catherine's comment was quiet, yet it hit Sara with the force of a speeding train. "I'm not out to hurt you or whatever you seem to expect me to do."

From the way Catherine met Sara's gaze, there was no doubt of her sincerity. That scared Sara more than spending a day alone with Lindsey. "I'm not running." The protest was automatic – as was the next quick step into the hall. Sara rubbed her hands on her pant legs. "Come on, Cath. What do you want? I've only been in Vegas for five…six days." It felt like longer.

"That's just it, Sara." Catherine climbed out of her chair and walked across the room. "I don't want anything." Smiling wryly, she corrected the statement. "Well, I do, but not what you're thinking. There isn't a price on staying here or on our friendship. I don't expect you to tell me all your deep, dark secrets over a glass of wine tonight."

Still not sure what exactly Catherine _did _want from her, Sara stood frozen in place. "When?" she asked. "Tomorrow? Next week?"

Catherine backed off. She sensed Sara's rising panic. "Whenever you're ready, Sara." Veering away from the other woman, she headed for the kitchen. "Go take that shower already. I need coffee." And a chance to regroup. Despite her promises not to push, she'd done just that.

Sara didn't move.

"Did you change your mind about breakfast?" Catherine stopped on the threshold of the kitchen entrance.

A slow headshake answered her question.

"Well, you're too big for me to carry to the tub. Go!" Pointing down the hallway, Catherine waited to see if Sara would wake from whatever thrall held her. Was this from the lingering headache – or from the intrusive questions and comments she'd made.

The order worked. Sara slid a step farther away. "I'm going. God, you can be so butch sometimes."

Catherine barely had time to register Sara's grin before she turned completely away and strode to the bathroom. "Butch, huh?" she asked the empty living room. "That's one I haven't been called before." Feeling better about her fragile relationship with Sara, she completed her journey to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker.

The sound of the shower mixed with the whir of the appliance, and Catherine smiled. This afternoon was a far cry from the usual echoing silence. It would be very easy to get used to Sara filling the void - if Sara could ever get over her problems with Lindsey. And right now, that didn't seem to be likely.

Pushing away from the counter, Catherine jogged up the stairs to her bedroom. While Sara was otherwise engaged and Lindsey was out of her hair… Her laptop was still in its carrying case. Catherine pulled it out. Docking it quickly, she connected to the Internet and typed: pedophobia.

The screen filled with links. Scanning them, Catherine discarded most as useless. Finally, she chose one and clicked on it. "An abnormal fear of children," she read aloud. "I knew that already." More searching was fruitless. Sara didn't discriminate against Lindsey and she was fairly sure Sara didn't actively _dislike_ Lindsey.

In fact, Sara had seemed to like Lindsey – when she wasn't suffering from migraines or breathing into a paper bag.

Her perusal of the information was cut short as the phone rang. Catherine closed the laptop with a snap. "Please be Lindsey," she commented as she hurried back down the stairs. A sleepover at Nancy's would keep Catherine from worrying about Sara during a family movie night.

"Hello," Catherine said as she tucked the handset between her shoulder and ear. The now-brewed coffee beckoned.

She never made it to the counter, however. "Cath, it's Gil. I need you and Sara at 8402 Bay Crest Drive."

Had he missed their earlier refusal on overtime? "Damn it, Gil. We aren't…" Catherine started to protest.

"We have a multiple homicide. Four dead. Everyone's being called in, Cath. _Everyone_." He paused and Catherine heard voices and the crackle of a police radio in the background. "Make sure when you get here you don't talk to the press. The vultures are already getting in the way and spreading rumors. Don't talk to the Sheriff either."

Before Catherine could ask any questions, the line went dead. "I'm never answering the phone again," she told the empty kitchen. "Never." Even as she made her vow, Catherine was mentally preparing for the long shift ahead. Punching in a new number, she left a terse message on Nancy's cell phone, relaying the bad news and a heartfelt apology for leaving Lindsey without her family time.

Lunches, thermoses of coffee… They lined up neatly on the counter in minutes.

"Are we taking Linds on a picnic?" Sara asked from the doorway. "I thought we were staying in and having popcorn and M&Ms?"

"We were." Catherine piled the sandwiches into a thermal lunch bag and zipped it closed. "Then I made a mistake and answered the phone." She shared a look with Sara. "Plans have changed."

Pushing away from the doorframe, Sara strode into the kitchen. "I'll finish up here. You hit the shower." Catherine was fairly certain that was relief in Sara's voice. She was probably happy that movie night was on hold.

"Thanks, I won't be long." Catherine touched Sara lightly on the shoulder as she headed for the stairs.

* * *

The red and blue flashing lights led Sara to the scene. She parked and waited for Catherine to pull up next to her. The second she got out of the SUV, Grissom was there to greet her.

"What took you guys so long? It's been over an hour since I talked to Catherine." He didn't wait for an answer. Pointing to the house, he continued, "Sara, you're with me. The tech I had taking my notes couldn't handle the blood; I still haven't completed my initial walkthrough."

Not wanting to irritate him further, Sara simply nodded and trotted to the back of the Tahoe for her gear. Catherine was missing when she returned. "I'm ready." Sara winced when Grissom turned without saying anything and stalked toward the house. Hefting her heavy kit, Sara sighed and followed him.

Grissom didn't slow down, even after they entered the darkened house. Sara set her kit on the floor near the front door and grabbed a pen and notebook. "Did you get the first floor finished, Gris?" she called out. He'd disappeared into one of the rooms off the foyer.

"Yes." As suddenly as he'd gone, Grissom came back. "I'd like to start at the top of the stairs…if you're finally prepared?"

Sara held up her writing supplies. "Look, I already apologized for being late. Cath and I are still getting used to the whole living together thing. I left my car and gear at the lab, and we swung by to pick it up." It took real effort to refrain from adding that he would have been equally irritated if Sara had shown up without her evidence kit.

"OK." Grissom's distracted and uncaring reply had Sara gritting her teeth. When he continued, the subject was all business. "There were some unusual patterns in the spatter." He turned away and began climbing the stairs.

Unlocking her jaw with an effort, Sara followed him. There was blood everywhere when they reached the landing. "What the hell happened?" She'd been at multiple murder scenes before; this was unlike anything she'd seen. Scanning the hallway, she noticed a pair of feet protruding from one of the doorways.

"According to the EMTs who arrived first, we've got four bodies – all with multiple stabs wounds, and two survivors in cars outside." Grissom moved slowly toward the body, carefully stepping around the blood on the floor.

"Shit." Sara gripped her pen tighter. "No drag marks, Grissom. Whoever did this didn't move the body."

Kneeling next to the corpse, Grissom peered at the man. "Multiple stab wounds to the back and neck. Looks like a single-edged blade. Force to such a degree that the left and right internal jugular veins have been transected. Head faces west. Feet pointing east. Approximately two feet from the north wall, one foot from the south."

"That's some serious anger," Sara commented as she scribbled down Grissom's analysis. "I don't think this is a robbery gone bad." She dodged the blood spatter as they continued down the hallway. The rest of the house followed a similar pattern. Three more bodies, each with signs of similar knife wounds. Blood decorated the walls and floors in dark red waves in those rooms.

When they had completed the walkthrough, Sara returned outside, grim and silent. She stood on the porch and sucked in cleansing breaths. "What now? Should I go back in and do the photos or do you want me on the perimeter?"

"Hang on." Grissom left her alone and wandered over to talk to Detective O'Riley. He was back in seconds. "The Sheriff's on his way. I want the witnesses out of here before he can interfere with our questioning. Ride in the radio car with one of the girls."


	33. Chapter 33

As usual, Grissom was overreacting. "Look, Gris," Sara told him calmly, "I can clear the witnesses out – in the Tahoe. I don't want to have to bum a ride back later. There is too much evidence and too much attention for us to waste that kind of time." To bolster her point, she pointed at the swarm of reporters and cameramen standing on the other side of the police tape.

"Oh." Grissom blinked in the direction her finger indicated. "OK. Just keep me posted on anything the girls say." Turning away, he called out to Detective O'Riley. "I want the paramedics who responded to this scene back here. Give them a police escort if you have to, but I want them on the front lawn right now!" Without looking back, he hurried back into the house.

"Thanks for the help, Sara. I really appreciate the way you saved me from looking like an idiot," Sara mumbled after his retreating form. With a sigh, she trotted down the stairs to the front walk. Getting mad at Grissom never did any good. He was too clueless to even _notice_ the anger. Sara strode over to the first cruiser and bent down. A wide-eyed and pale teenager stared back at her.

"Are…are you going to take me to my sister now?" Clutching a blanket around her shoulders, the young girl scooted across the molded plastic seat toward Sara. "She has to be so scared."

Sara edged back a step. "Ah… I don't know about your sister. She's in another car. Why don't you stay here for a minute, and I'll be right back." Flashing what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Sara stood up. She looked over the top of the car. Clumps of deputies milled around. A few rushed between the house and other cars or talked with people Sara assumed were neighbors.

Finally, she caught sight of Catherine next to another radio car. In her arms was a small girl also wrapped in a blanket and staring straight at Sara.

* * *

"Hey, sweetie," Catherine cooed. "Are you ready to go for a ride? We can pick up something to eat and then get you all cleaned off." She hoped it would get a reaction. The poor waif in her arms had been eerily silent the entire time Catherine had been there. Nothing. Those wide blue eyes simply stared sightlessly past Catherine at…something. Turning her head, Catherine followed the girl's line of sight. She jerked in surprise when that line led straight to Sara.

The other woman was already striding their way. "Cath! I'm about to leave with the older girl. Any chance you could take the little one to the hospital? Grissom's panicking because the Sheriff's on the way." Sara grimaced as she approached. "I'd take them both, except…"

The distance Sara left between them was apparent. Catherine nodded slowly. "Sure." She didn't want to remind Sara of her earlier reaction to Lindsey, and there _was_ an actual, job-related reason the two girls couldn't travel together. "Brenda and I will go in my SUV and I'll find you there."

"Thanks." Sara smiled without ever looking closely at Brenda and backed up. "I'll see you…two at the hospital."

Hugging Brenda tighter, Catherine watched Sara flee back across the brightly lit yard. She was surprised when little arms wrapped around her neck and returned the embrace. "You know what, Brenda? I think you and Sara are a lot alike. Cute, quiet, and very mysterious." She placed a soft kiss on the side of Brenda's face and then carried her to the Tahoe. "The food and hot bath have to wait a bit. Think you can hold out a little longer?"

Eyes still wide, Brenda answered with a small nod.

"Good girl." Unable to resist, Catherine kissed the pale face again before closing the passenger door and trotting around to the driver's side. "I have a daughter about your age, Brenda. She's always bugging me to show her the lights and sirens." Starting the car, Catherine began the dangerous task of backing up and maneuvering the maze of radio cars, media vans, and people. "I don't normally listen to that. You, though… You're a special case. Would _you _like me to turn on the lights and sirens?"

There was no answer, and Catherine risked looking away from the rearview mirror long enough to check on Brenda. Leaning against the passenger-side window, Brenda huddled into her blanket with her eyes closed.

It didn't matter what Brenda wanted. Catherine stomped on the gas pedal and slapped the button on the dash. The SUV surged forward a split second before an ear-piercing wail cut through the night. They were getting to the hospital as quickly as Catherine could safely manage.

The traffic was mercifully lighter than normal. With the addition of the emergency lights, Catherine made good time. She pulled into Sunrise Medical Center and parked under the Emergency Room overhang. Without the constant whoop of the sirens, the silence in the interior of the car was stifling. The click of her seatbelt exploded through the small space, and Catherine winced at the noise.

Brenda hadn't moved during the entire ride. She waited in the same pose until Catherine made the trip around the SUV and opened the passenger-side door. "OK, honey. It's time to get you all checked out." Catherine extended her arms, and Brenda apathetically climbed into them. "It'll be all right," Catherine said. She wasn't sure if the reassurance was for Brenda – or herself.

From the far end of the large exam room, Catherine watched a nurse gently rub a washcloth over Brenda's arm. "You're sure she's OK?" she asked. "I have a daughter, and… Her behavior wasn't normal."

The doctor snorted. "Ms. Willows, if your daughter had just seen you killed, I think she might act very much like Brenda." The young doctor shoved his hands in the pockets of his rumpled lab coat. "There is nothing physically wrong with her."

Frowning, Catherine stared at the little girl. "It's more than simple shock." She tried to explain the unease coiling through her. "I've been an investigator a long time; I know shock when I see it. This was…" Breaking off, she grimaced in frustration.

"I'm sorry. There wasn't anything we found, Ms. Willows." With a polite, yet impatient, nod, the doctor opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Thanks," Catherine said then finished more softly, "for nothing." If Brenda's injuries weren't physical, that left one option. Checking her watch, Catherine calculated the amount of time they'd been in the hospital. Five hours. Even the social worker had had time to fill out the proper paperwork and make the drive across town. Keeping her voice soothing, Catherine called across the room. "Brenda?"

The blonde head whipped around, and dull blue eyes stared at Catherine.

"I need to step out, but I'll be right here." Catherine pointed through the curtained window on the door. "If you need me, I promise I won't be far away." She waited until she received a slight nod from Brenda and then slipped out.

The hallway was lined with chairs, most of them empty. Here and there, groups of people huddled together as they waited for news from one of the many doctors and nurses hurrying up and down the gleaming corridor. No one looked in her direction, and not one of the people nearby seemed official enough to be from Family Services.

Catherine reached for the radio clipped to her belt. Brenda needed someplace safe to spend the rest of the night. Before she could make the call, though, her cell phone rang.

* * *

Sara got a lot of stares as she leaned against the wall near the bathrooms. Ignoring them, she pulled her cell phone out of a pocket and dialed Catherine's number. She and Grissom had missed the evidence. They hadn't seen…

She couldn't think of that now or Sara knew she'd be back in the bathroom vomiting into the sink again.

Concentrating on the soft ring in her ear, Sara prayed Catherine was still in the hospital and would answer her phone. They _had_ to get the evidence.

"Sara?" Catherine's voice replaced the ring, and Sara relaxed fractionally.

"Hey, Cath." Sara's throat hurt as she croaked the words out. "Are you at the hospital?" _Say yes_, she pleaded silently. "If not, you need to turn around."

There was a moment of silence. "We're here. I'm waiting for the social worker," Catherine answered. "Are you OK? You sound funny." Even on the phone, Catherine's concern came over loud and clear.

"I talked with Tina. The older girl," Sara explained, avoiding any comment about her own wellbeing. "She said… I…" Stumbling over the words, Sara fought to keep from breaking down. This wasn't the time or place for that. She had a job to do. Taking a different tack, she tried again. "Did the doctor's find wrong anything with Brenda? Was she hurt?"

"Sara…" Catherine wasn't going to accept the change in subject. Sara bit her lip and willed the other woman back on track. "No," she finally responded. "Brenda doesn't have so much as a scratch. Of course, she hasn't said a word and she jumps at every sound, but she's got a clean bill of health."

Nausea threatened again. Sara swallowed convulsively against the bile churning in her stomach. "Tell them to look again." Her voice rose and grew urgent. "Tell them to use a UV lens and take pictures." She couldn't force herself to give any more details; Catherine had surely investigated other crimes with children. She'd understand. Without offering a goodbye, Sara snapped the cell phone closed.

Brenda was just the first link. Sara needed more if she was going to prove what had actually happened in the house on Baycrest. Pushing away from the wall, she rubbed both hands over her face. She needed to get Tina settled into the group home and then head to the lab. The crime scene photos would be there.

The mental to do list helped. Sara felt the band around her chest loosen. Striding across the hall, she stepped into the exam room and smiled grimly at Tina. "Your sister's fine. My coworker is with her, and they're waiting for a social worker."

"I want to see her." Tina had been repeating that since they'd arrived at the hospital.

Very softly, Sara replied, "I know you do. I'm sorry; we have to wait until after the detectives question both of you. Once that's taken care of, I'm sure you'll be able to see Brenda."

The tears streaking Tina's face made it hard for Sara to stay firm. "Ms. Sidle, _please_. I have to see her. She's all I have left."

Woodenly shaking her head, Sara refused. "Get your things. I'll take you to the group home. You need to get some sleep before talking to the police."


	34. Chapter 34

The drive to the group home suggested by Family Services was quiet. Sara's fingers ached from the tight grip she had on the steering wheel. This wasn't a comfortable, soothing silence. Tina stared holes through the side of Sara's head, and the sound of all her unspoken words rang in Sara's ears.

It was a relief to pull into the brightly lit parking lot and turn off the engine. "We're here," Sara announced with forced cheer. "It looks like they're waiting for us." She pointed toward the front door, where a dark form hovered in the entryway.

"If I go inside, will you let me see Brenda in the morning?" Tina wasn't playing along.

"Look…" Turning in her seat, Sara met Tina's piercing eyes. "I can't promise you anything. If I did, I'd be lying, and I really don't want to do that. If you and Brenda give your statements to the police in the morning, and they clear it with Family Services, you'll be able to see her."

If anything, Sara's words only increased Tina's tension. "So everything depends on what the police find?"

It was an over simplification – and Sara latched onto it eagerly. "Sure." She didn't add that the police would only work off of leads provided by evidence she and the rest of Grissom's team discovered. "Now, come on. You need to get inside, and I have to get back to work." Emotion leaked out as she continued. "I want to make sure you and Brenda are safe and that you can go home together soon."

That emotion seemed to help. Tina slowly reached for the door handle. "OK." The door popped open. "Ms. Sidle." The words dragged out of Tina as if she fought to keep each one inside. "Brenda wasn't…hurt, was she?"

"No," Sara responded immediately and forcefully. "In fact, when I talked with my co-worker, the doctor didn't find anything physically wrong with her." She shared a long look with Tina. "Nothing physical," she repeated.

"Good." For the first time that night, a small smile snuck onto Tina's face. "That's good."

Sara didn't want to foster too much hope in Tina. "We're still looking for other evidence. Sometimes…sometimes the injuries aren't on the surface." Her warning was soft yet sober. "I bet you already know that."

Jumping out of the Tahoe, Tina avoided an answer.

Following suit, Sara got out as well and walked toward the door a half-step behind Tina. A woman wrapped in a housecoat waited at the entrance. "You must be Tina!" She smiled too brightly and stepped forward as if to hug Tina.

Tina's body stiffened visibly and Sara rushed to intercede. "Hi. I'm Sara Sidle, from the crime lab. Tina hasn't really had a chance to rest; we've had her at the hospital. Do you think we can skip some of the usual paperwork until tomorrow? I know the detective in charge of the case will be here early to talk with her." She nimbly slipped between Tina and the other woman.

"Of course." The beaming smile disappeared as the woman pushed the door wide to let them in. "I'm sorry. We don't normally… I mean…" She floundered and then simply hurried ahead to show Sara and Tina the way to the correct room.

Sara stayed only long enough to make sure Tina wouldn't bolt the second she left for the lab. When they had Tina's few possessions hanging in the closet, it was time to go. Sara maneuvered Tina away from their hostess and kept her voice low. "Get some sleep, Tina. I wasn't lying when I said Captain Brass would be here early." It was likely he'd be here in only a few hours, given the already late time. "And, Tina?"

"Yes?" Sara could see the wariness in Tina's shadowed eyes.

"When Brass asks, you need to tell him what really happened in that house." With a wave of her hand, Sara took her leave.

***

Holding the clunky camera, Catherine smiled down at Brenda. "We have to take some pictures now, Brenda. This is a special camera, though."

Brenda nodded solemnly and watched Catherine with shadowed eyes.

"Well, this camera takes pictures of things under your skin. Things no one else can see." Trying to reassure the pale and silent little girl, Catherine stepped back. "How about I take a picture of me first?"

One again, Brenda simply nodded.

"Good," Catherine said, feeling as if she were reading from a very bad script. She extended her right arm and aimed the camera at it with her left. A soft whir and a sharp click announced the camera at work. "See? It didn't hurt at all." Looking back at Brenda, Catherine asked, "Is it OK if I take some pictures of you?"

Two skinny arms lifted out.

"Thank you, honey." Catherine needed pictures of other parts of Brenda's body. The arms, though, were a start. She snapped several shots of Brenda's arms before setting the camera on the exam table next to Brenda. As unthreateningly as possible, Catherine reached out and gripped the shoulders of Brenda's hospital gown. Keeping eye contact and holding her breath, she drew the thin material down until it bunched at Brenda's chest. "Just a few more; I promise."

The camera whirred and clicked a dozen more times as Catherine photographed Brenda's chest and back. She had just finished redressing Brenda when a soft knock sounded at the door. Both of them jumped and looked in that direction.

After a few seconds, the door crept open and a head appeared in the gap. "Ms. Willows? I'm Lauren Holmes. I'm here to pick up Brenda." The words were accompanied by a polite smile.

Returning the smile without moving so much as an inch, Catherine responded, "There are a few more details I need to take care of. If you'd like to have a seat in the hallway, I'll bring Brenda to you when we're all finished." She stopped and looked down when a small, chilled hand slipped into hers and latched onto her fingers. That did it. The mother in Catherine roared to life. Professional detachment could go to hell. Without thinking, Catherine picked Brenda up and cradled her against her hip. "One more stop, honey, and then I'll get you the biggest hamburger you've ever seen."

Brenda's only answer was to twine her arms around Catherine's neck and lay her head trustingly on Catherine's shoulder.

"Ms. Willows, I'm sorry. You can't do that. Brenda has to come with me." Ms. Holmes gripped the door handle and blocked their exit from the room. "You aren't…"

"…letting you take her," Catherine interrupted smoothly. "Brenda is scheduled to speak with Dr. Davies, up on five."

The comment stunned the other woman enough that Catherine was able to gently move her out of the way. "Five? Why wasn't I told Brenda needed to be examined by a…"

Once again, Catherine refused to let Ms. Holmes finish her sentence. "We only made the appointment an hour ago. I'm sorry you didn't get the message." She strode down the hallway with Holmes trotting at her elbow. "New evidence came to light." Catherine suspected there would be even more once the photographs she'd taken were developed.

"I see." The aggression faded from Ms. Holmes' voice. It was replaced with determination and a sympathetic edge. "What do you need from me? I wasn't expecting this so I don't have the documentation with me; however, I can have it faxed here in minutes."

Sensing she might have an advocate, Catherine slowed her rapid pace and glanced down. "Get the paperwork. The doctor…I've worked with her on other cases. She's good. If there's anything to find, we need to make sure it's admissible." Her stomach twisted at the thought of what they might find, and Catherine's arms tightened around Brenda as they took the elevator to the hospital's fifth floor.

Because of the late hour, there weren't many people in the hallway near the staff psychiatrists' offices. In fact, other than a few scrub-clad orderlies, Catherine, Brenda, and Lauren were the only people on the floor. Catherine tapped softly on the outer door of the doctor's suite and then pushed it open. "Trish?"

"Catherine, good morning." Trish Davies, white coat sharply pressed at even this hour, got up from behind her receptionist's desk and strode forward. "I was starting to wonder if you'd changed your mind." She smiled at Catherine as her eyes slid over Brenda in a quick examination.

Catching Trish's frown, Catherine jiggled Brenda in her arms. "Hey, honey. Can you say hello to Dr. Davies? She's the last stop on the Willows' Train before that burger."

The tiny head on her shoulder lifted wearily. Brenda watched Trish carefully – and didn't say a word.

That didn't faze Trish. "It's nice to meet you, Brenda," she said with what seemed to be genuine cheer. "Why don't we go into the other room? I have lots of toys and things for you to play with while we talk." Trish stepped away from Catherine and gestured to a closed door.

Brenda followed Trish's arm and appeared more interested than she had all night. Catherine took that as her cue and gently set the little girl on the floor. "Go on, honey. Lauren and I will be right out here if you need us." She caught Trish's slightly tilted head and looked in that direction. Another door, well disguised by potted plants and bookcases, sat farther along the same wall. Nodding her understanding, Catherine gave Brenda a light push Trish's way. "Remember, as soon as we're finished here…"

A small smile crept across Brenda's face. "Burgers," she said quietly.

It was like winning the lottery. Catherine beamed back. "That's right. Burgers." She watched Brenda follow Trish into the other room and then turned to Lauren. "Get the paperwork." The momentary happiness after Brenda's comment faded. Deep inside, Catherine knew…somehow, she knew they weren't going to like what Brenda had to tell Trish. "I'll be in the observation room when it comes in."

***

Through the one-way mirror, Catherine tensely watched Brenda and Trish at the short table in the playroom. Both figures were drawing on large pieces of pink paper with crayons. Trish paused and held hers up. "Wow. I hate to say this, Brenda, but you draw better than I do. You can't even tell this is supposed to be the pony I had when I was your age."

Trish waited while Brenda looked at her outstretched drawing. Catherine examined it, too. From her vantage point, the pony looked like a brown oval with spider legs sticking out at odd angles.

"Yours, though," Trish continued after setting her drawing back onto the table. "I can see you've drawn your pet."

Biting back a smile, Catherine recognized the ploy. Trish had no idea what Brenda had drawn; she was simply counting on it being something as normal as the family pet.

"Can you tell me about it?" Trish encouraged. "What's its name?"

The tranquility of the scene shattered when Brenda clearly announced, "Buffalo," and began frantically scribbling across her picture with the crayon in her hand.


	35. Chapter 35

Catherine's first instinct was to charge into the room and pull Brenda into her arms. She resisted that urge. This wasn't her own daughter; Brenda was a probable witness to a murder. Her actions were evidence. Throat tight, Catherine watched Trish calmly reach across and place her hand over Brenda's.

"Don't do that; it was a pretty picture. I wanted to hang it in my art gallery." Pointing to the various other childish drawings mounted haphazardly around the room, Trish smiled. "How about I get you another piece of paper and you do another one for me?"

Brenda's only response was a listless shrug. Her frenzied reaction to Trish's earlier question seemed to have drained the last spark of life from her.

Ignoring that, Trish hopped up – expertly freeing Brenda's ruined artwork from the little girl's grasp. "Thank you. Some of the ones I have now are really old. I could use a new picture." Tucking the first example under her arm, Trish took another large sheet of paper off a side table and placed it in front of Brenda. "Go ahead and get started, Brenda. I need to talk to Catherine and then you two can get that burger."

As Trish hurried for the inconspicuous door leading to Catherine's location in the observation room, Catherine yanked her cell phone from her belt. She stabbed the buttons with barely contained anger and paced as she waited for Grissom to answer.

"Grissom." His voice was brusque and impatient. "Catherine, where are you? Family Services should have been there a while ago. I need you back at the lab."

Catherine's teeth ground so hard that her jaw ached. She held one hand up to hold off Trish and snapped into the phone. "I was tracking down a lead, Gil. That _is_ my job…I thought." A lead. Catherine looked through the mirror in front of her and stared at the slumped and exhausted "lead" in the other room.

There was a startled silence on the other end of the line.

"We may have gotten the motive for the murders wrong," Catherine continued before Grissom could recover. "There's a good possibility they had nothing to do with robbery." She took a deep breath and leaned her head against the glass. "I'm with a child psychologist at the hospital." The explanation was oblique, yet Catherine was sure Grissom would be able to connect the dots.

Grissom's shocked, "Cath," drew a reluctant smile from Catherine.

"Don't worry, Gil. I've got a warrant. The Family Services agent is here with me." It wasn't a lie. Not really. Lauren was in the outer office…getting the warrant. "Let me finish up with the doctor and get all of the information. Brenda – the little girl – had a really strong reaction to the word 'buffalo.'"

***

Sara keyed the mic on her radio. "Dispatch, this is P44. Is Supervisor Grissom on site?"

There was a moment of silence broken only by road noise as Sara headed for the lab. "Affirmative, P44. Supervisor Grissom is on site. Would you like me to put you through?"

Yes. Sara didn't say that, however. An unsecured radio was not her first choice for this conversation. "I'll give him a call on my cell. Thanks. P44 out." Tossing the radio carelessly into the passenger seat, Sara stepped on the accelerator and the Tahoe surged forward. At the same time, she pulled her cell phone from her belt and flipped it open.

"Grissom." He wasted no time on pleasantries.

Neither did Sara. "I dropped the older Collins girl off at the group home. I'm headed your way. I want a closer look at the crime scene photos. Are they ready?"

"Hang on. Let me check." Grissom must have placed his hand over the phone. Sara could hear his muffled voice talking to someone in the background. "Yes. Did the girl say something? What are we looking for?"

That was the problem. Sara wasn't completely sure. Telling Grissom anything at this point would do no good. "Just have the photos waiting for me in my office." For once, Sara didn't smile or chuckle at the reference to the small lab she'd co-opted as her favorite workspace. The light ahead turned red, and Sara brought the SUV to an impatient halt. "Have you talked to Catherine? Has she gotten anything out of the little girl?"

There was more animation in Grissom's voice when he replied. "She didn't give me a lot of details. However, she had Brenda with a child psychologist. Family Services got a warrant. It looks like we may have something from that end."

Sara's hand tightened around her cell phone. Grissom didn't get it. Or…he got it and was too clueless to care. "Anything else?" Had Catherine gotten the UV photos?

"Apparently the little girl has a thing for buffalos." Sara clearly recognized Grissom's confusion. "Look, I need to go. Nick and Warrick are bringing in the rest of the evidence, and O'Riley's waiting on warrants."

"Right. Make sure those photos are ready, Gris." Sara disconnected the call. Warrants meant that there was a suspect. Cursing under her breath, she prayed that whoever they brought in was prepared to tell the truth. Brenda and Tina needed someone to tell the truth or the system would destroy them both.

By the time she parked in front of the lab, a headache pounded behind her eyes. Sara ignored it. She didn't have the luxury of tossing back a handful of painkiller and napping on the couch in Grissom's office. Striding into the brightly lit and frenetically busy building, Sara waved at the receptionist. "Messages?"

Looking harried, Judy shook her head. "No, Ms. Sidle."

That was one piece of good news. "Great. Can you send CSI Willows to the small lab when she comes in?" They needed to talk. Sara wanted to know more about Brenda's reactions and anything Catherine had found in the photos.

"Sure, I can…" Judy's comment was cut off by the beep of the switchboard.

Sara waved again and left her to answer. She'd accomplished what she'd needed. The lab – and the crime scene photos – beckoned. Dodging the clusters of techs and deputies in the hallway, Sara made a beeline for the small corner lab. She smiled in satisfaction when she spotted the envelopes of pictures stacked on the work table. Perfect.

Not even bothering to remove her vest or hat, Sara dropped onto the tall stool and grabbed the first envelop. Glossy images of horror spilled out. Pushing down the automatic sickness at the gruesome stills, Sara took a loop and a magnifying glass from a drawer and bent over the first photo.

She was still there, slowly making her way through the photos, when Catherine tapped on the door frame. "Judy said you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah." Wincing at the protesting muscles in her back and neck, Sara straightened. "Not for the reason I thought, though. Take a look at these." She waved a hand at the mess on the table. "Tell me what _you_ see."

Catherine didn't ask any questions. She simply handed Sara a grease-stained bag from a local fast food restaurant and grabbed the first photo. "What am I _supposed _to see?" she murmured.

Fries in hand, Sara didn't answer directly. "I want your opinion, Cath."

"Whoever did this was a sick bastard," Catherine said. The grim, pinched look on her face indicated she wasn't trying to be funny. "Hmm…I heard on the way back the Sheriff is pitching a cult theme to the media. Stirring up a frenzy already."

Sara watched Catherine examine the evidence and finished off the cold, soggy fries.

"I studied pictures of the Manson Murders. This isn't butter – it's imitation." Catherine held up a photo of a blood swirl that had been left on the floor next to Mr. Collins. "You obviously think something's off, too. What's your take?"

The fries had been a mistake. Hunger faded into a sick, leaden feeling exacerbated by the greasy fried potatoes. Tossing the now-empty bag into a trash can, Sara walked to the lab table. "I thought, at first, that whoever committed the murders killed the mother first." She pointed to a photo showing the bloody and carved body of Mrs. Collins.

"It would explain why the blood is confined to the bed and the floor underneath it." Catherine pressed the loop to the next photo in the pile. "The husband wakes up. Sees his wife and runs to protect the kids." The magnifying tool moved over the picture as Catherine continued. "The killer must have nicked him on the way and he eventually gave his life to save Brenda."

The loop stopped and reversed direction.

Catherine raised disbelieving eyes to Sara. "Except… There isn't enough blood for that."

***

Her words drew a grim smile from Sara. "Yeah. It's a hole, and we need to fill in the gaps." She sat down on a stool across from Catherine, looking frighteningly pale in the harsh lights of the lab. "If we work from the scene and fan out whoever was left alive at the scene…"

"Damn." Catherine set the loop down and stared at Sara. "Oh, damn." This case kept getting more and more horrific.

"The first suspect is Tina." Sara confirmed Catherine's fears.

Holding up a few of the photos, Catherine shook her head. "She didn't do this on her own, Sara. There's no way." She tossed the handful back on the table. "And after what I heard from Trish Davies over at Sunrise, she may have had a good reason for wanting Daddy Dearest dead."

If anything, the comment leeched even more color from Sara's face. "Maybe."

Catherine came part-way off the stool. "What?" Her voice rose. "You were the one who told me to take the UV shots of Brenda. You at least suspected the abuse. _Maybe_? That bastard was abusing Brenda."

"Yes, he was." Sara sounded completely certain of that. "I think he did the same thing to Tina."

The stool kept Catherine from sprawling unceremoniously on the floor as her knees failed. "She told you? You found something else?" she asked in a rapid fire manner.

"No." There was something in Sara's voice. Catherine straightened slowly and kept her eyes locked on the other woman. "No, Tina didn't say anything about her family." Reaching out, Sara plucked a photo off the table and peered at it without the aid of the loop or magnifying glass. "I…"

When Sara trailed off, Catherine reached across the table. "Sara?" She took Sara's hands in her own. "If Tina didn't say anything, how did you know I should check Brenda for bruising under her skin?" Her mind was working rapidly, trying to put the clues together.

Eyes shadowed, Sara glanced up at Catherine before staring fixedly at their joined hands. "I don't have any evidence. I just…I just knew, OK? That's why it's so important we find the proof in these photos, Cath. We have to find the evidence!"


	36. Chapter 36

Sara's impassioned declaration filled the tiny lab. Catherine let the sound – and the emotion – fade slightly before saying, "Well, we've done the photos. The blood evidence alone won't hold up in court. Not as a motive for murder." She refrained from commenting on the savage nature of the crime. That was a matter for a defense attorney to explain. "Have the boys brought in the rest of the evidence yet?"

Her acceptance of the situation seemed to calm Sara. "Grissom said they were on the way in." Checking her watch, she shot Catherine a sheepish grin. "That was about three hours ago."

"And all I brought you were some soggy fries. I should have gotten you a sandwich, too. I bet you left that lunch I made in the Tahoe." Catherine didn't even need to see the wave of pink rise up Sara's cheeks to know the answer. "Come on. I've got some change in my purse. My treat at the vending machine."

Sara looked mutinous.

Donning her best Mom Look, Catherine murmured, "Eat or I'll ask Nick to help me go through the evidence."

It worked like a charm. Scowling fiercely, Sara stalked out of the lab – and down the hall toward the break room.

"So…" Catherine trotted to catch up. "Where do you want to start? It was a huge house, and Grissom can go overboard with collecting things. Master bedroom? Kitchen?" An image of Brenda's face as she'd scribbled over her drawing directed Catherine in another direction. "Or…Brenda's room? If Mr. Collins was…abusing her," Catherine forced the word out, "the evidence would have been there. Maybe something to do with the buffalo."

"It's the best place to look." Sara stared moodily through the glass front of the vending machine. After a long pause, she pointed to a granola bar. "Will that do, Mom?"

That earned her a smack on the shoulder as Catherine reached into her purse. "For now. Once we get the evidence settled in your office, I'll call Nance and see if she can run some food by on her way to work."

"You don't like pizza?" Sara took the change Catherine offered and fed it into the machine. "I thought it was a staple of all crime labs and cop shops."

"We eat more than enough pizza at home. It's Linds' favorite food – after McDonald's." Leaving Sara for a minute, Catherine strode to the coffee maker. No one had made a fresh pot. Two inches of black liquid clung to the glass. Catherine debated for a second before picking up the pot and pouring the sludge into a paper cup. She'd ignore the burning stomach in favor of the caffeine boost.

When she turned around, Sara was already tossing the wrapper of her 'dinner' in the trash. "I'm good for a few hours now." Smiling slightly, Sara said, "Thanks, Cath. I get a little…tunnel visioned on the job sometimes."

Catherine suspected it was far more often than sometimes. She didn't say that, though. "You're welcome. Now come on. We have boxes to haul around and the tattered remains of a family to sift through." The lightness in her voice didn't disguise the grim reality of the words. This was one part of the job she didn't enjoy.

***

Even in her wildest imagination, Catherine wouldn't have come close to guessing the amount of evidence seized from the Collins home. Nick and Warrick had either hired a U-Haul or they'd made multiple trips. Thanks to Sara's decision to concentrate on a single room, however, there were only fifteen boxes crammed into the small lab.

Four hours later, that fifteen seemed insurmountable.

"These people had too much stuff." Catherine removed another blood-flecked item from a box and peered at it.

Sara laughed. "You sound like George Carlin. Come on, Cath. I want to hear the rest." She held up an evidence bag and examined the necklace inside.

With a tired sigh, Catherine tossed all the evidence on the table in front of her back in the box. "Sorry. I can't. My brain can't think past opening the next box." She glanced across the room. Only six left in the untouched pile. The rest, having yielded nothing they could use, sat in another stack.

"Yeah." Sara put the bag down and stretched. "I can't believe we haven't found _anything_ yet. Books, clothes, stuffed animals. Grissom's crazy. What does any of this have to do with the murders?"

"Not to mention the abuse." Catherine lugged her box to the finished pile and grabbed another. "If you get tunnel vision, Gil suffers from…" Her sluggish mind wouldn't generate the right word. "…the opposite problem," she finished lamely. "He thinks everything is relevant." Using a box cutter, Catherine slit the tape holding the lid.

Seconds later, the sound of more cutting filled the room as Sara repeated the gesture on her own box. "I bet the DA never tells you that you didn't look deep enough."

Busy digging slippery evidence bags out onto the table, Catherine didn't reply immediately. Finally, when half of the box lay spread in front of her, she said, "Oh, you'd be surprised. Gil's one hell of a scientist. Unfortunately, his Clueless Scientist routine doesn't impress a lot of people." She paused. "Well, if you consider lawyers people."

Catherine picked through the new evidence as Sara started talking. "You mean…" The words faded.

Hand shaking, Catherine reached for one particular evidence bag. It was small. Smaller than almost any other bag from the box. Its import, though, was massive.

"Sara." Catherine's voice stuck in her throat as her hand closed around the medallion collected at the scene. "Sara!" she managed to repeat with more force. "Look!"

***

The urgency in Catherine's words pulled Sara's head up. "Son of a bitch." Bile burned Sara's stomach and throat. As she stared at the blood-crusted pendant, adorned with a large, raised buffalo, a new image filled the room.

_The buffalo swayed in front of her eyes – one minute coming perilously close to her face, the other smacking into her father's bare chest. He grunted in time with the buffalo's motion…_

"Nick logged this as part of Mr. Collins' personal belongings. It seems he was wearing it when he was murdered." Catherine's voice disrupted the horrific scene in Sara's mind. "I think we have our evidence."

"Yeah," Sara choked out. They had it. They had exactly what Sara had feared. "We have to talk to Tina." If Brass got to her first… Sara began tossing evidence back in the boxes, only years of training ensuring that she got the bags in the right box. "Sign that out, Cath. I want Tina to see it."

Catherine was helping with the cleanup. "You know we have to call Jim, right?"

Sara didn't want to call Brass. Tina needed an advocate, and Brass would focus only on getting Tina to confess. "I know," she muttered. She didn't say anything else as they completed their second cleanup of the morning.

Her assurance must not have been convincing. Catherine stepped away from the lab table and opened her cell phone.

A protest hovered on Sara's lips; she didn't utter a word, however. They had to do this by the book, no matter what her instincts were screaming. And that meant letting Brass lead the interrogation with Tina.

"Hey, Jim," Catherine said into the phone.

Tuning out the rest of the conversation, Sara stacked boxes onto a rolling cart and shoved the heavy load out into the hallway.

***

An hour later, Sara watched Tina glare defiantly at them across the table in a tiny interrogation room. "Look, I didn't kill them! Why would I do that? They were my parents."

Brass' face was expressionless, and Catherine looked on the verge of playing the Mom Card. The latter might have worked if Tina's background had been different. Sara leaned forward slowly. This required a different tactic. "We know why you did it, Tina. So do you – you just told us."

Sara could feel three pairs of eyes staring at her.

The only pair that mattered was Tina's. Confusion, fear, anger… The cocktail of emotions in those eyes tore at Sara. "I didn't tell you anything," Tina protested.

"Yes, you did," Sara answered. Keeping her voice quiet and conversational, she continued. "You claim you didn't kill them – your parents. I noticed something, though. You never said you loved them. Why didn't you say they were your parents and you loved them?"

It was a direct hit. Tina jerked back and went so pale Sara thought she might pass out.

That's when a knock on the door shattered the scene. Brass' emotions were clear now from the scowl he wore. Pushing away from the table, he muttered, "Excuse me," and stalked to the door.

Sara couldn't hear the low-voiced conversation that followed, and she didn't care. She was shaking slightly. She'd been so close to getting Tina to talk. So _damned_ close. The moment had passed. Tina had dropped her eyes to the table and her shoulders were hunched in a classic defensive posture. The interruption was giving her time to find an explanation for her earlier slip.

"Well, that was interesting." Brass was actually smiling when he returned to his seat. "Tina, Ms. Sidle's observation…it's an interesting one. And I don't really need you to explain it anymore. Do you want to know why?"

Not surprisingly, Tina uttered a terse, "No."

"That's too bad. I'm a good story teller." Brass didn't let her refusal break his stride. Opening up a large envelope he'd brought back from the door, he took out a set of photographs.

Sara caught only a glimpse of one. It wasn't from the crime scene photos she and Catherine had examined.

One by one, Brass lined the prints up on the table. "I'll skip the story this time, Tina. I'll just get straight to the point. These were taken at the hospital by Ms. Willows. They're of your sister." He pointed to the first photo. "Do you see this dark patch here? That's a bruise. So is this." His hand moved to another spot on the same print. "And this, this, and this."

Methodically working his way down the row, Brass pointed out each and every bruise. After the first, though, Sara stopped watching the show. She dragged her eyes away from the evidence and forced herself to observe Tina.

All the teen's bravado had disappeared. Tears streaked her cheeks and one hand pressed over her mouth.

"Tina." Catherine picked up when Brass finished. "We aren't here to hurt you or Brenda. The evidence tells us that your father sexually abused Brenda. We also know…that he was in her room the night of the murder."

Tina's hand dropped back to the table, and she reached mechanically for the photo right in front of her. "How do you know?"

"Blood drops. They fall a certain way depending on the motion of the victim." Catherine's professional mask slipped. "Honey, something terrible happened in that house – and not just on the night of the murder. Please tell us what happened."

When the answer came, Sara felt the impact all the way to her soul. "That was the night he…my _father_," Tina spit out, "was going to touch her."

No one moved or spoke for a long minute. Finally, pushing through the horror, Sara asked, "Why kill your mother? And your brothers?"

Tina seemed to break at the new question. A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands. "Because they should have protected me."

Brass picked up on the change in pronoun. Looking grim, he reached across the table, almost (but not quite) touching Tina. "You?"

"My father…it started when I was young. I learned to deal. But when he went for my daughter…" Tina took a deep breath. "I couldn't let him do that to her, too."


	37. Chapter 37

Tina's announcement crackled through the interview room. Sara closed her eyes on a wave of nausea that threatened to send her sprinting from the room. She couldn't do that. Not here. Not now. Tina needed her here.

Her eyes shot open again, and the sickness settled into a burning lump as Brass said softly, "Tina Collins, I'm placing you under arrest for murder. You have the right…"

The rest faded into the background as Sara's mind raced. Tina had confessed – without the attorney Sara had suggested at the group home. There had to be something else Sara could do to help, though. Sara wasn't willing to give up and leave Tina at the mercy of the legal system. Unfortunately, she hadn't been in Las Vegas long enough to make any contacts in the legal community. Forcing herself to stand, she murmured, "Cath, can I see you outside?"

Catherine frowned and peered at Sara intently. "Are you OK?" Her eyes narrowed, and Sara could almost feel her gaze as it raked up and down her body. "Another headache?"

Headache didn't begin to describe the pounding in Sara's head. "Not exactly." Not saying anything more, Sara walked carefully around the room to the door and slipped into the hallway. If Catherine didn't follow, she'd have to come up with another solution. Maybe one of her old friends from San Francisco knew a good lawyer in Vegas.

As Sara reached for the cell phone in her pocket, Catherine came out of the interrogation room. "Sara, if it's another…"

"Cath, I'm fine." Sara said, cutting off Catherine's concerned comment. It was an overstatement; she wasn't anywhere near fine. However, Sara needed to get them on the right topic. "I do need your help, though. Or…Tina does. I normally have the names of some good criminal lawyers. Right now, all mine happen to live in San Francisco."

Eyes widening, Catherine gripped Sara's arm and led her down the hall to the observation room entrance. Once inside the tiny room, she released Sara and paced. "If Grissom heard you say that, his head would explode. You can't get involved."

***

Catherine could tell her words weren't welcomed. Sara stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not? The evidence is already tagged, and Brass was there to witness the confession. It's not like anyone can say I tampered with the evidence or was biased in my conclusions."

"Really?" As much as she understood Sara's need to help Tina, Catherine knew she had to keep Sara from making a huge mistake. "Any good defense attorney is already going to be looking at you."

When Sara flushed and then went pale, Catherine stopped. "Why would you say that?" Sara's question was husky and strained. "They don't have any reason to 'look at me.'"

Filing Sara's reaction away for later discussion, Catherine continued. "We normally move off the evidence, Sara. You? It's like you're psychic. How did you know that I should take those photos of Brenda? How could you even begin to suspect the abuse?" She held her hands out, palm up. "You have to explain how you knew what happened in that house – before we found the evidence."

Sara's arms tightened around her body, and Catherine waited for an answer.

It didn't come. Catherine took a deep breath and felt an ache in her chest. She had too many years on the job. The questions she'd thrown at Sara and the scene in the interview room with Tina were slowly starting to make sense.

Catherine wished they didn't.

Trying not to put Sara further on the defensive, she tried to explain her thinking. "Look, honey, the only way we can help Tina is through the evidence. You should know that." Catherine watched through the mirror behind Sara as a deputy cuffed a still-crying Tina. "Whatever you did at your old job – it doesn't happen here. Grissom is all about the facts." She searched for words as she continued. "If you've…seen a case like this one…" Catherine saw Sara flinch away from her words. "You can use the experience to steer you in the right direction. At the end of the day, though, your report – and the evidence – has to connect in a nice, neat, straight line."

"That's bullshit!" Sara snapped. "The evidence we have will bury Tina. We've done our job, Cath. The only thing left is to write the damned report. Why would anyone think we weren't objective because we gave Tina the name of a good lawyer?" She spun and faced the mirror, one hand pressed so hard against the glass Catherine saw the muscles in her arm bunch.

"Bullshit or not, that's the job." Swallowing the sour taste in her mouth, Catherine walked forward and placed a hand on Sara's shoulder. Sara trembled under the touch and the hand on the mirror closed into a fist. Catherine refused to back away. "Sara…" How much should she push?

Before she could answer that question, Sara whispered, "They deserve a chance, Cath. Tina and Brenda deserve a chance." Her head turned, and the tears in her eyes hit Catherine like a bullet to the chest. "If we don't do anything, we're no better than Mrs. Collins – looking the other way while the system rapes them."

Now it was Catherine's turn to flinch. Pushing the image of Brenda's haunted eyes and bruised body out of her mind, she repeated Grissom's favorite phrase automatically. "The only way we can help is through the evidence." Then Catherine grimaced. She wasn't Grissom, and his policy might work in a courtroom – or his tidy little lab. This case, though… Catherine knew she'd never sleep again if they didn't do something to help Tina.

She felt Sara watching her. "Cath?" The question was tentative. Sara turned so she faced Catherine again.

"Give me a minute." Opening her cell phone, Catherine dialed a number from memory. She planned the conversation as the phone on the other end began to ring.

After a few seconds, a husky voice mumbled, "Yeah?"

"John?" Catherine smiled slightly as she spoke into the phone. "It's Catherine."

The smile widened at his reply. "My God, Cat. It's been what? Five years since you remembered my number?"

"I know it's been a long time. My fault. The new job and Linds eat up all of my time. Listen…" Catherine didn't want to lose track of the real reason for her call. "I hate to spring this on you, but I've just finished a hell of a case. It's right up your alley," she said quickly. "And I need your discretion, too. I'm calling off the record." No need to get Grissom up in arms if she didn't have to.

"I've never betrayed a confidence, Cat. It's part of the job. What have you got?" John's voice took its cue from Catherine's information. The husky, suggestive edge was gone. He was all business now, and she pictured him propped against the pillows with the notebook and pen from his nightstand.

Wandering across the interview room, Catherine filled him in on Tina's situation. "I can't give you much. You'll have to read the official reports for that." Skipping the details of the case, Catherine touched on Tina, Brenda, and the abuse they'd suffered. "Think you can help?"

There was no immediate response. Finally, though, a sigh drifted out of the phone. "I've been doing this for far too many years, and I'm still sickened by what people can do to their kids," John said. "You know I'll take it. You wouldn't have called otherwise."

Very true. Catherine felt the knot in her stomach loosen. "Let's just say I was hoping." As her tension eased, a yawn slipped out. God, she was tired. "I owe you one."

"No counting, Cat. I don't think either one of us can count that high. Get some sleep. Knowing you, you've been running on adrenaline and caffeine. I'll see you in court." The phone went dead as he hung up.

With her mission accomplished, Catherine closed the phone. "Hope you're happy, Sara. I dug deep into my…" The words trailed off as Catherine turned to find Sara missing from the interview room. "What the hell?" She'd compromised her own ethics to make that call, and Sara didn't even hang around for the results? Stifling a frustrated growl, Catherine strode into the hallway and peered up and down.

No Sara.

Fed up with Sara's inconsistent behavior, Catherine shrugged and headed for Grissom's office. He, at least, would be where she expected. Sure enough, when she poked her head around the doorframe, Grissom sat behind his cluttered desk, engrossed in a forensics journal. "Gil."

His head snapped up. "Cath," Grissom echoed. Then, as if reading from a cue card, he added, "Nice work on the Collins murder. Jim called and said they'd booked the older girl and her boyfriend."

He said it as if it were good news. Catherine's muscles stiffened at that. "Yeah. Thanks. Sarfa and I thought there might be an accomplice." John was going to have his hands full. She rubbed the back of her neck and changed the subject. "I'm taking Sara home, and we'll do the paperwork in the morning. I'm afraid if I try to type anything tonight, a rookie PD could find the mistakes."

One of Grissom's eyebrows rose over the frame of his glasses. "Cath, we really need to get the reports filed. The Sheriff is already mad about the mix-up with the cult." A tiny smirk tilted his lips. "He's asked that we keep him informed more quickly."

"I bet." Catherine shook her head. "He should be thrilled that I'm waiting to write until after I sleep for at least twelve hours. Another bad press conference and his hopes of re-election will be shot. See you tomorrow." With a wave of one hand, Catherine retreated and resumed her search for Sara.

Twenty minutes later, she was still alone – and fending off waves of worry. Sara hadn't looked well after the interview. Surely she hadn't tried to drive home…

She was considering calling Nancy to see if Sara was there when Warrick walked up next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Cath? You alright? Greg said you've been stalking up and down the hall frowning. It'll give you wrinkles," he teased.

"And God knows, I have enough of those already." Winking up at him, Catherine tried one last time to locate Sara. "I'm beat, 'Rick, and I've got one foot out the door. Have you seen Sara? I was hoping to share a ride home." She tried to keep the words casual.

His answer was immediate. "I saw her heading out a while ago. She said she needed to clear her head after the case." Now Warrick was the one frowning. "You know, maybe I should have stopped her or something. She didn't look too good."

The news wasn't a shock. "The case was a real bitch," Catherine explained. "If I didn't have Linds to go home to, I'd be hitting the first bar I drove by for a drink or three." Her concern over Sara intensified, but Catherine reminded herself that Sara was an adult. She could take care of herself, and she knew how to reach Catherine or any of the team if she needed anything. "Thanks for the info. Looks like I'll be going home alone."

Warrick chuckled. "If you need company, there are a dozen guys right here who'd kill for a chance to make your trip less…lonely." He mock leered at her. "Might even include me on the list."

Catherine smacked him lightly in the stomach. "You couldn't handle me and you know it." Blowing him a kiss, she walked away. "And Greg?" she called over her shoulder. "He wouldn't last ten minutes."

She walked out of the building to the sound of Warrick's laughter.

The parking lot shimmered under the morning sun, and Catherine donned her sunglasses as she started the Tahoe. The stifling heat leached into her muscles. Fighting a need to close her eyes and nap in the SUV, Catherine determinedly left the lab and headed for home. Cranking the air conditioning up helped alleviate some of the exhaustion.

Hands tapping on the wheel to the song on the radio, Catherine scanned the restaurants lining the street. Breakfast sounded better now that she wasn't on the verge of falling asleep. Seeing golden arches up ahead, she put on her turn signal and checked the lane to her right.

That's when she spotted another black Tahoe parked in front of the Aces High bar and lounge.

Breakfast could wait. Changing lanes, Catherine forgot about an Egg McMuffin as she whipped into the bar's parking lot. The license plate on the Tahoe indicated it was Sara's. This couldn't be good – not with Sara's reaction to their case. Catherine found an empty parking spot and was already dialing Nancy's number as she hopped out of the SUV. "Hey, Nance," she told the answering machine. "I'm sure you saw the big murder on the news this morning. It was a long, long night. Sara and I are stopping for breakfast and a drink to unwind. Can you keep Linds this afternoon? I'll call when we get home to check in."


	38. Chapter 38

Catherine was glad she'd called Nancy when she stepped inside the dim, smoky bar. She spotted Sara immediately, hunched over a corner table with a glass clutched in both hands. From the balled-up pile of cocktail napkins, Catherine decided Sara had been keeping the bartender busy.

She strode across the room, ignoring the fixed 'welcome' smile from a waitress bussing a nearby table. Catherine might have wanted a drink at the lab, but it was clear she wasn't going to get one. One of them had to be able to drive home, and even from a distance she could tell that Sara wouldn't be behind the wheel.

"Hey," Catherine greeted Sara when she reached the table. Now that she was so close, she counted four napkins – not including the one wrapped around the bottom of the glass in Sara's hands. "I can't believe you left without telling me. It's tradition for everyone on a case to grab breakfast or a drink after shift."

Not even glancing up, Sara finished off the amber liquid in her glass before responding. "Sorry. I'm not really up for company right now." With only a slight waver in her hand, she set held up the empty glass for a minute in an obvious request for a fresh drink. "Why don't you go home, Cath? I'll be there later. I just need to unwind a little more."

Right. If Sara unwound too much more, she'd be passed out under the table. Shaking her head slightly, Catherine slid into the other side of the booth. "Not going to happen." She kept her words as casual as possible. Despite the worry knotting her stomach, Catherine knew pushing Sara at this point would do more harm than good. "I'm going to make you part of the team even if I have to fight you do it." Not to mention make sure Sara wasn't planning to drive after her drinking binge.

A waiter appeared suddenly with Sara's new drink. He glanced back and forth between them, seeming to catch the tension, and took a careful step back. "Can I get you anything?" he asked from his new position.

"I'll have a club soda," Catherine told him before he moved even farther away and disappear. "And bring me a menu when you come back." If she was going to stay and watch Sara drink herself into oblivion, breakfast was a must.

The silence once he walked away wasn't surprising.

She needed a game plan, Catherine decided as she watched Sara scowling at her new drink. Maybe the best approach was to treat Sara like the suspect in a case. Pulling together the varied clues Sara had dropped recently, Catherine stretched her legs out under the table. "I have a question," she stated.

"Only one?" Sara'a eyes flickered briefly upward and then skittered away. "I don't even need that ESP you accused me of using to guess you've got a hell of a lot more than that."

"Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on how you answer the first one." Keeping her gaze on Sara, Catherine refused to back down this time. Whatever was riding Sara, it had nearly affected their case – it would have, if Catherine hadn't been there to ensure the evidence backed up Sara's suspicions. Despite her driving need for information, though, Catherine chose an oblique angle toward her concerns when she said, "I did some checking online yesterday. You don't have pedophobia. You're not anymore afraid of Linds than I am."

If possible, Sara's hands tightened even more around the glass. Catherine saw her knuckles whiten from the pressure. "Of course I am. You saw the way I reacted to her. What else could it be?"

That was the question Catherine was almost afraid to ask. "You tell me, Sara. What else could cause panic attacks and migraines at the sight of a child? And what about those leaps of logic in the case? It was like you identified with Tina and Brenda; you _knew_ what they were going through." Without stating her suspicions, Catherine did her best to show Sara what conclusions she'd drawn.

Sara sidestepped the issue. In a quiet monotone, she said, "I only put the pieces together, Cath. That's all. There was nothing odd or extrasensory about it." Her lips twisted in a grimace before she took a sip of her drink. "I'm good at that, you know. Fitting the pieces together."

The waiter reappeared with Catherine's club soda and the menu, and Sara stopped talking. Clenching her hands around the laminated menu card, Catherine wanted to scream. So close…Sara had been so close to actually talking. The interruption had put a stop to that, though, and it appeared the moment was gone. Not quite ready to call it fate and give up, Catherine scanned the menu and ordered the breakfast special, giving her time to think about how to proceed.

Once they were alone again, she leaned across the table and wrapped her hands over Sara's. "I know you're good, Sara," she said, trying to pick up the conversation where it had ended. "Gil wouldn't have brought you in – or asked you to stay – otherwise. No one doubts your talent."

It wasn't working. Sara seemed to have tuned Catherine out. She stared fixedly at their joined hands and didn't speak.

Frustrated by the lack of sharing from Sara, Catherine stopped pushing for answers. Maybe another tactic would work. She dropped her hands to the table and idly played with one of the cocktail napkins. "I don't understand how something like last night can happen. After all the time on the job, I still just don't get it," she confessed softly. "My mother was a dancer. Not so unusual in Vegas. And she spent a lot of time with different men, but if one of them had even _looked_ in my direction…" The phantom images of some of her mother's boyfriends seemed to crowd Catherine's side of the booth, and she shivered at the feeling. "Mom was self-absorbed and too trusting – and yet there's no way she wouldn't have noticed if one of those men was slipping into my room every night." Her eyes rose to Sara's face. "How in the hell did Mrs. Collins _not_ know?"

There was more silence from Sara; although, the other woman did actually move for the first time since Catherine had started talking. Of course, it was simply to down her drink in two big gulps.

This was getting them nowhere. Or…It was getting Catherine nowhere. Sara wasn't a part of the 'team building' in any way. Catherine sighed and rubbed a hand over her suddenly burning eyes.

"She knew." Sara's words were soft and slightly slurred. The alcohol was finally taking its toll.

Trying not to appear too eager, Catherine didn't lean in closer to listen. She did, however, make a sound of agreement and then waited for more.

"She had to know," Sara continued. "Tina was right. Mrs. Collins should have been there to protect her and Brenda." Pausing to set her empty glass on the table, Sara peered around the bar.

When she didn't resume talking, Catherine prodded gently. "I agree. Those girls needed someone to be there for them – like you wanted to be, Sara. You did your best to help them." She flushed, remembering the way _she_ had been willing to sit back and let the system step in. "I'm sorry I didn't want to help you…help Tina at the lab."

In an eerily flat tone, Sara said, "No one helps. That's why people like Collins do what they do. They know everyone pretends there isn't a problem because it's easier that way."

On alert now – and trying to hide the fact – Catherine watched Sara without responding.

"I mean, the bruises must have been from a fall or a fight on the playground, right?" Sara reached for one of the discarded napkins. Paper pieces fell like snowflakes onto the table top as she began to shred the material restlessly. "It couldn't be from anything more sinister. Things like that don't happen in good families."

They had to be talking about the Collins' girls still. If they weren't… Catherine resisted the urge to join Sara in desecrating the napkins. Her hands balled into fists, and it took all her willpower not to ask for clarification. This was _not_ the right time to interrupt.

"You can see it in their eyes, though," Sara mumbled. "The pity. Always pity. Never anything else. They feel sorry for you."

Her words were becoming more and more indistinct. Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw the waiter approaching with her breakfast and a fresh drink for Sara. She started to hold up a hand and wave him off but reconsidered. Sara had fallen silent and (as bad as it sounded) more alcohol might get her to divulge more secrets.

Ignoring the slight pinch of shame at her plan, Catherine let the waiter slide food and drinks onto the table. She even took a few bites before turning her attention back to Sara. "What should people feel, Sara? Angry? Sick?" Either described how she'd felt when Tina had made her announcement in the interview room.

A shrug answered the question. "It doesn't matter."

It did matter. Catherine gave up pretending disinterest and leaned forward. "It _should_ matter, honey. No one, child _or_ adult, deserves to be abused." Her hand inched forward, reaching automatically for Sara's.

Catherine's hand stopped abruptly as Sara looked up from her drink. "Of course I did, Cath. My father told me that every day."

The few bites of eggs and toast turned to lead in Catherine's stomach, and the smell of the remaining food suddenly made her nauseous. "Oh my God. Sara…" The words trailed off. What could she say? "I'm sorry" or "It will be OK" sounded trite and condescending even in her head. She settled for a quiet repetition of her earlier statement. "_No one_ deserves to be abused."

Fortunately, Sara didn't seem to notice the hesitation in Catherine's response. In fact, she appeared to have lost interest in the conversation altogether. She raised her glass and drained it in a few swallows. It thunked loudly onto the table when Sara set it down. Sara herself made far less noise when she crossed her arms on the table and then lay her head down on her newly-created 'pillow.'

Pushing aside the food she no longer had any intention of eating, Catherine slid out of the booth. She quickly dug money out of her purse and dropped what she hoped was enough to cover her breakfast and Sara's drinks next to her plate. They had to leave. Now. Before Sara was out for the count. "Honey, come on. Let's get home."

Sara's head rose slightly. "Tired…"

No doubt. Catherine didn't say anything about her own fatigue. "I know, and the bed in the guest room would be far more comfortable than sleeping here."

Their waiter hovered in the background. "Would you like me to call a cab?" From the carefully bland expression on his face, he was used to patrons requiring transportation assistance.

"No," Catherine said. "I can drive – if you can help me get her to the car." She didn't give him a chance to complain about the request. Moving slowly, Catherine touched Sara's shoulder. "Honey, can you stand up? It's time for us to go home."

"Of course, I can stand up," Sara protested immediately. The effect of her confident statement was ruined, though, when she levered herself out of the booth and stumbled.

Catherine lunged forward and slipped a shoulder under Sara's right arm. "Whoa! Watch your step; the carpet's dangerous." The joke fell flat. Neither Sara nor the waiter cracked a smile. "Hang on to me, OK? I don't want to have to explain to Gil how you broke your nose walking to the car."

The journey seemed to take forever. For such a slight woman, Sara weighed a ton as she listed against Catherine. The waiter hurried in front of them, clearing a path and opening the front door. "Come back and see us real soon," he called after them with only a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Not if I can help it," Catherine panted. The few bites of eggs sat uneasily in her stomach, and the still staggering Sara was a stark reminder of why high levels of stress, a lack of food and sleep, and booze didn't mix. "Next time, we're hitting the McDonald's. Lindsey must be right – it's the best place on Earth compared to here."

With a silent cheer, Catherine saw the Tahoe ahead. Only a few more steps. She lifted Sara away from her side and leaned the other woman against the side of the vehicle. The locks clicked open as she keyed the remote. Once she had the back seat door open, Catherine gripped Sara by both arms and maneuvered her so her butt rested precariously against the seat. "Get in," she ordered. There was no way she could lift Sara into the car without help – and she wasn't going back inside to get it. "Sara!"

Sara responded to the sharp sound of her name by blinking dazedly at Catherine. Miraculously, one booted foot scrabbled against the bottom of the door frame before finding purchase.

It was enough. Barely. Sara lifted off the ground and tumbled backward onto the bench seat.

Sweating and ready to crawl in next to Sara and sleep, Catherine slammed the door closed and took her place behind the wheel. To hell with breakfast. She was taking them both straight home.


	39. Chapter 39

The drive was a lesson in the surreal. Exhausted and not a little freaked at the information Sara had divulged, Catherine drove on auto pilot through the mid-morning traffic. The sun blinded her and the traffic signals and cars were surrounded in an undulating aura of heat waves. To the accompaniment of Sara's soft snores, Catherine dug deep into her reserves and concentrated on getting them home. When she saw the house ahead, she nearly cheered. The sight of Nancy's mini-van in the driveway tore a heartfelt, "Yes!" from her.

Parking the car was a relief, and Catherine tumbled out of the SUV as the front door opened. Nancy trotted down the front steps. "I got your message. Is everything alright? You sounded pretty stressed out." The words came out in a rush, stopping only when Nancy reached the driveway. "Eddie's not up to his old tricks again?"

Catherine flushed and bit back an angry response to the final question. It might be pointed – but it was well deserved. The last time she'd called Nancy about a morning breakfast, she and Eddie had ended up in a room at the Bellagio. "No, I haven't seen Eddie in a while." Not since Sara had come to her rescue at the lab. "Sara and I had a rough case. So rough that…" Breaking off, Catherine carefully opened the back door of the Tahoe.

Head lolling off the far side of the bench seat, Sara sprawled bonelessly in the vehicle.

"Ah." Nancy shook her head. "You did mention you were working that big murder on the news. No wonder you look like Hell." She grinned and pointed at Sara. "At least _she _looks relaxed."

"Ha ha." Not bothering to answer the comment, Catherine yawned. "Give me a hand getting her in the house, will you? I'm barely good enough to walk on my own, and I don't want to leave her in the Tahoe. She'd roast and there's a lot of paperwork and nasty things like handcuffs involved with that."

It was clear Nancy wanted to say more. Her mouth opened and closed and she gave Catherine a narrow-eyed look.

To avoid anymore conversation, Catherine turned and gripped Sara's ankles. "I think I can get her out on my own. Can you stand by in case she starts to fall, though?" Pulling slowly, she inched Sara closer to the door, arranging her feet on the concrete and maintaining a tight grip on the other woman's belt.

A second pair of hands joined in once Sara was mostly out of the back seat. "You ought to start feeding her, Cath." Nancy grinned faintly. "You brought her home. The least you could do is fatten her up a bit."

Everyone was a critic. Trust Nancy to add a comedic bent as well. "I only found her a few days ago, Nance." Playing along, Catherine draped one of Sara's limp arms over her shoulder and began the trek to the house. "At least she's not living on the streets or eating out of trashcans anymore." The humor fled abruptly as the import of her statement hit Catherine. Sara had mentioned abuse. What kind and how bad had it been? Had her supposed joke been anywhere close to reality for Sara?

Nancy hadn't noticed her change in mood. "I'll be sure to check back, Cath. I better see Sara looking a lot better the next time or I'm turning you into the Humane Society. If you can't take care of a pet, you shouldn't bring one home."

Making a noncommittal sound, Catherine kept her expression as blank as possible. She had to get control of herself. If she reacted like this around Sara…Well, it didn't take a lot of imagination to see her houseguest moving out. "I don't think Sara will be going anywhere for a while," Catherine murmured. "She isn't in any condition to do more than sleep it off." Balancing Sara between her body and Nancy's she opened the front door. "Help me get her to her room, Nance, and then I can take it from here. You've pulled double duty, and I already owe you more than I can pay."

"I've got news for you, sis. You owe me more than you know. I talked Lindsey into doing a big slumber party with some of her friends from school tonight – at my place." Nancy smiled. "You don't look much better than Sara, you know. Even if you _are_ walking under your own power. Take the night off and get some rest."

Blinking against the suddenly dim lighting as she stepped into the house, Catherine wondered how she'd gotten so lucky. "Thanks, Nancy." Maneuvering Sara down the hall took a lot of concentration, and Catherine used the time to find a way to show her sister how much she appreciated the gesture. She was still running possibilities through her head when they pushed Sara onto the bed.

"I'm going to head out," Nancy said as she picked up Sara's feet and set them on the comforter. "Ten little girls can eat a lot of food; the grocery store is calling my name."

That, at least, Catherine could help with. "There's some cash in my purse."

Nodding slightly, Nancy walked toward the door. "I'll get it on my way out. Get her comfortable." She pointed at Sara. "And then get some rest yourself. I don't want to see you for at least a couple of days."

She was gone before Catherine could reply.

Two days. Two whole days without Lindsey. Normally, Catherine would have been upset by that. This was far from a normal situation, however. Turning back to Sara, she dragged off the other woman's heavy boots and covered her over with an extra blanket stored in the closet. "Sleep tight," Catherine whispered softly. Sara needed the rest even more than she did, and Catherine acknowledged how close to the edge _she_ was as she stumbled upstairs to her own room.

***

Sara rolled over and frowned. Her head throbbed, even with her eyes closed. "I'm an idiot," she hissed in pain. Things weren't completely clear in her memory, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten the reason for the way she felt. She wanted to pull the blanket over her head and go back to sleep. Better yet…she could sneak out the window and run away from home.

The need to avoid a rehash of what Sara had told Catherine while under the influence warred with the absolute agony she knew waited for her in the bright, blistering sunlight.

Limiting the headache to jackhammer proportions won out. Sara managed to get out of bed, but she gave the window a wide berth as she stumbled to the door. It was mercifully dark – and minus Catherine – in the hallway. Each step took days and Sara was ready to curl up on the cold tile floor in the bathroom by the time she got there. Instead, sweating and shaking, she left the light off as she answered Nature's call and then ransacked the medicine cabinet for a bottle of ibuprofen.

Fortified for the return trip, Sara opened the bathroom door – and bit back a groan. "Morning, Cath," she croaked. Was it morning?

She was sure the twitch in Catherine's lips was really a well-hidden smirk. "Good morning, Sara. I thought I heard you banging around in here. Find what you needed?" Catherine's lips twitched again, keeping their humorous tilt for a second. "Would you like some breakfast? I was about to fix some eggs and bacon…"

It was almost too much. Catherine's voice was a touch too loud and far too chipper. Mixed with the increased hammering in Sara's head and the imagined smell of the food, the effect nearly sent Sara hurtling back into the bathroom. "Not…not right now." Sara slowly edged into the hallway. If she could make it to her room, she could lie down for a day or two until the hangover was gone. "Maybe later."

"OK. If you change your mind, though, I'll be in the kitchen." With a beaming smile, Catherine turned and left Sara alone in the hallway.

Sagging against the wall, Sara closed her burning eyes. She wasn't going to change her mind. Her stomach wouldn't even consider eating – and her mind railed against sitting across the table from Catherine. Mostly sober and mortified. "I'm an idiot," she mumbled again and resumed her trek to the bedroom.

It was blessedly quiet and empty. Sara spared a thought to undressing then discarded it. Too much movement and effort. She was tired, and the small amount of sunlight filtering through the blinds made her wince. All she needed was another twenty-four hours of sleep.

The sheets were cool and soft against her face. Sara sighed softly in contentment and closed her eyes. Sleep… It was the only thing on Sara's mind until the room disappeared from view. The second she closed her eyes, however, an echo of her own voice erased the peaceful silence.

"_You can see it in their eyes, though," phantom Sara mumbled. "The pity. Always pity. Never anything else. They feel sorry for you."_

"No!" Sara told the voice sharply. No. She wasn't going to rehash that drunken conversation. Not with Catherine and not with herself. She was sleeping. The voice faded and Sara smiled in satisfaction. Perfect. Pulling the blanket under her chin, Sara wiggled into a more comfortable position.

The next interruption to Sara's plans was Catherine. Dredged from the recesses of Sara's memory, Catherine cried, _"It should matter, honey. No one, child or adult, deserves to be abused."_

"Shut up!" Without thinking, Sara sat up in the bed. Her head forcibly reminded her of the folly of moving too quickly.

As she grabbed her head in pain, a light knock sounded at the door. "Sara? Is everything OK?" The handle wiggled and the door began to open slowly. "Honey?"

Avoidance was no longer an option. "I'm fine, Cath," Sara lied. She felt slightly foolish at the attempt as Catherine's head appeared through the doorway. She knew she neither looked nor sounded fine.

"Huh." Right on cue, Catherine said, "You don't look fine. Can I get you anything?"

"I took Advil." Very slowly, Sara stretched out on the bed again. The position helped the pounding behind her eyes. Now if she could only put a stop to the constant rehashing of the conversation in the bar. "Can you maybe turn off the sun, though?"

A gentle laugh answered her query. "Sorry. No can do. How about an ice pack?" Catherine's voice came closer. "And I'll drape a sheet over the blinds. It should block out more of the light."

Catherine was a goddess. "Thanks." Having her eyes closed gave Sara a sense of security. That might have explained why she said, "I'm sorry about this morning." The reality of that statement took a second to sink in and then Sara moaned softly. Why had she said that?

"Hey," Catherine responded instantly. The bed dipped and Sara felt Catherine settle next to her hip. "It was a tough case…" Her voice trailed off. "And the bar? Who hasn't said things they regret after tipping a few back."

It couldn't be that easy, could it? Sara cracked an eye open.

"I'm not going to make your personal life fodder for the rumor mill, Sara," Catherine continued. It wasn't quite what Sara had hoped. "We'll keep it between us. You know – what happens in Vegas and all." She smiled and touched Sara's leg. "Let me get that ice pack. You don't need to be talking now. We can do that after the hangover's gone."


	40. Chapter 40

Sara suddenly wished the headache and nausea might be permanent afflictions. She did not want, now or ever, to revisit the sad story of her past.

She never got a chance to let Catherine in on that realization, however. Catherine stood. "Give me a second to get the ice and the extra sheet. Would you like the Eddie Willows' Sure Fire Cure-All while I'm playing waitress? Its reeks and tastes like battery acid, but it works like a charm."

"No," Sara answered immediately. Then, because even in her hung-over condition that sounded rude, she tacked on, "Thank you." Maybe she could still make it out the window while Catherine was gathering up supplies. The sunlight wouldn't be so bad. Sara tried to reconstruct the layout of the exterior of the house in her head. The window led to a small, grassy patch at the far side of the house. She'd have to sneak across the entire front, ducking under the two huge windows, before reaching…the relative…safety…

***

Sheet draped over one shoulder, Catherine pushed the door to Sara's room open and entered with the ice pack extended as a peace offering. She'd pushed too much the first time. Despite Sara's closed eyes, her tension had been clear from the way she had stiffened and frowned at the mention of talking about the conversation in the bar.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't mean…" Coming to an abrupt halt, Catherine smiled and shook her head. Sara must not have been too upset; she was fast asleep with the blanket clutched tightly in both hands. So much for apologies _or_ conversation. Catherine left the ice pack on the bedside table and draped the sheet over the blinds as quietly as she could before retreating to the main part of the house.

Normally, a Lindsey-free day meant laundry and cleaning. Catherine soon discovered that Nancy had been a very busy girl. Not only was all of the laundry clean – it had been folded and put away as well. The floors squeaked with cleanliness. The cabinets were stocked. Tapping her fingers on the kitchen counter, Catherine stared out into the back yard. She needed information. Sara wasn't going to volunteer details about her past, and Catherine wasn't (yet) ready to push for answers.

That left her one option.

Grabbing her car keys, Catherine quickly scribbled a note for Sara on the odd chance she managed to crawl out of the bedroom before she returned. Minutes later, Catherine backed her Tahoe out of the driveway and headed for the lab. Grissom had wanted the final report on the Collins case. She'd give it to him – in exchange for some background on his protégé. The trip would give her time to come up with a plan to get the information without tipping Grissom off.

Step number one, though, required Grissom actually be in his office. Catherine grabbed the mic from the dash. "Dispatch, P25. Can you give me a 20 on Supervisor Grissom?"

"Standby, P25," a female voice responded.

Catherine reclipped the handset to the dash while she waited and concentrated on the traffic. It was thin at the moment, but she was closing in on the busier thoroufares. She used the time to script out her conversation with Grissom. He was usually clueless and missed any nuances that didn't pertain to a case. Catherine refused to count on that, though. This would be the one time in the history of their friendship that he managed to catch on that something important was happening right in front of him.

"P25, Supervisor Grissom is in his office." The radio crackled. "Would you like me to connect you?"

Would she? Catherine wanted to be cautious. If she waited until she arrived at the lab, though, Grissom might be gone. Retrieving the handset, she said, "Yes, thank you."

Seconds later, the dispatcher was replaced with Grissom. "Cath? Dispatch said you were looking for me. Is something wrong? Did you and Sara miss something in the evidence?"

"Nothing's wrong, Gil." Not with the case, anyway. "I'm on my way in to finish up that report – unless you think the Sheriff won't mind if I really do take my scheduled day off." She added the last with a smirk. The Sheriff was more likely to fire her for dereliction of duty if she waited any longer to get the paperwork in order. Grissom didn't need to know that coming in for the report suited her purpose for once. Let him sweat about the overtime.

"Oh." She could visualize his confused frown even across town in her SUV. "Then what did you need, Cath?"

Now was the tricky part. Catherine gripped the mic tightly and began laying her bait. "You know this was my first chance to work with Sara; I thought you might like to talk about the way she handled herself…" She let her voice trail off and prayed she'd hit the right note. Grissom wasn't the best at interpersonal relationships. He was, however, fanatically loyal to his team, and she was counting on that.

"What? Cath, what happened?" Grissom demanded.

Perfect. He'd taken the bait. "Not while I'm driving, Gil. Give me about thirty to get to the lab and tidy up the report. I'll bring it to your office and we can talk as you go through the information. I'm sure you'll have questions before passing it on to the Sheriff." Catherine paused and took a deep breath, rotating her shoulders slightly to relieve some of the tension. "I'll see you soon, Gil. P25 out."

She wasted no time completing the trip. Increasing her speed, Catherine employed a judicious use of the horn and a few flashes of the Tahoe's emergency lights. She pulled into the lab's parking lot twenty minutes later and trotted inside. If she was going to tackle Grissom in his lair, she needed to be prepared.

The reports weren't important. She had those well in hand. In fact, once she had retrieved the correct folder and forms, Catherine ruefully acknowledged she and Sara could easily have finished them yesterday. It might have saved Sara from the hangover – and would have left Catherine in the dark about Sara's past.

It was too late now. She was here, and Grissom was waiting for her. Making a quick stop in the break room for some coffee, Catherine strode into Grissom's office and dropped the file folders on his desk. "Here you go, Gil. Signed, sealed, and personally delivered." She took a seat in one of the chairs and settled in.

This might take a while.

He peered at her over the rim of his glasses and reached for the first report. "Good morning, Catherine. I was surprised you came in; you weren't so…motivated the last time I saw you."

If only he knew. Keeping her expression bland, Catherine took a sip of her coffee. "I woke up; I decided to get this over with _before_ you called the first hundred times." Then she relented. Getting him riled up wasn't the best way to tease information out of Gil. "Sorry." She waved a hand in apology. "I may be awake, but my manners are still at home."

Grissom didn't say anything to acknowledge her comment. Instead, he scanned the paperwork in his hands. "This is good work, Cath. I'm not sure I would have been able to make the connection. What did you base your suspicions on? There doesn't seem to be anything to tie the Collins' family to any kind of abuse."

Trust Grissom to find the one point Catherine couldn't readily explain. It had all been Sara – and her past. Using her coffee as a stall, she took her time and made a production of blowing on the hot liquid. "It was a lot of little things, really," Catherine finally said. It was too vague. She knew Grissom wanted more. He always did. "The way Brenda reacted around people, the complete lack of any other physical evidence on her body…"

From his frown, Grissom still wasn't making the connection.

Catherine sympathized and changed the subject before he could press for more. "Sara was a big help, Gil." Shit. That was too blunt and it wasn't her usual style. Backing off, she tried again. "I mean, I haven't worked one on one with her before; she's good."

That was better. Grissom's frown transformed into a small smile. "I thought she'd be good for us, Cath. We were getting too used to the status quo. Sara's one of the most talented scientists I've ever met, and I wanted her to shake us up. Challenge us."

"I'm sure she will," Catherine agreed softly. Sara was already succeeding better than Grissom knew. "She's the one who made this case." Quoting a statement Sara had made, she continued, "Somehow, she got all the pieces to fit together."

"Good. It looked like you weren't going to give her a chance at first, Cath. You do that sometimes." Grissom gave her a long look before going back to the report. "I see that the older girl confessed. That will make it easier when the case goes to trial. Maybe I won't have to clear your and Sara's schedules to testify." The pages rustled as he flipped through more. "What about the blood spatter evidence and the autopsy? Do they back up the details?"

Catherine regretted telling Grissom she wanted to talk about the case. Sitting here brought it all back. The coffee she'd drunk burned in her stomach and her shoulders knotted. "Yes," she said shortly. "Gil…"

Before Catherine could redirect the conversation, he was off again. "Well, I think the Sheriff will be pleased with the results. You managed to get this in just under the wire. He's got a press conference planned in a couple of hours." Grissom's smile was wry. "He has dreams of being the lead story at noon."

Of course he did. Vegas politics were rough, and the Sheriff wasn't shy about stealing all of the spotlight he could. "Anyway, Gil, I really stopped by to talk about Sara. Not the case." Now that she was here, Catherine wasn't sure how to proceed. She'd promised Sara that her past wouldn't become grist for the rumor mill. Yet, here she sat, about to break that vow. It made her pause.

"I'm listening," Grissom said into the stilted silence. "I thought you just said she'd done a good job. Is there something else, Cath? You're the lead CSI. If you have a problem with Sara…"

"No!" Catherine was quick to protest. Damn it. She was screwing this up royally. If she wasn't careful, Grissom would pick up the phone and call Sara himself. Mind racing, Catherine realized squeezing information out of Grissom wasn't what she really wanted. She wanted to get it from Sara – when Sara was ready. "I don't have a problem with Sara, Gil. Far from it."

As she leaned back in her chair, Catherine admitted that was the truth. She had absolutely no problem with Sara. She'd enjoyed working with her, as much as the grisly case had allowed.

"Then why are we here, Cath? This is your day off, and I was about to go home myself." Grissom was beginning to sound irritated. He didn't understand her motives, and that always made him cranky.

"God, Gil." Catherine shook her head dramatically and did the only thing she could. She made it all Grissom's fault. "You're the Night Supervisor. That comes with more than a salary increase and more face time with the Sheriff." Leaning forward and setting her coffee on the desk, Catherine met his eyes. "Surely you remember those pesky things called performance reviews?"

Bullseye. Grissom's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times.

"I can't believe you forgot." Catherine stood and stretched. "Well, I didn't. They'll be coming up sooner than you want, and I thought I'd give you something on Sara you could use." It was weak, and Grissom would know that - if she didn't keep him off balance. "Might as well tell you that I'm expecting an excellent review, too, Gil. Now that you have the big chair, we both know I'll be doing a majority of the paperwork."

"Ah…" Tossing the file back onto his desk, Grissom rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Thanks for the reminder, Cath. _All_ of the reminders. Maybe I should have turned the job down. You're far more qualified for it than I am. Me? I'm just the bug guy." He looked up at her with a smile. "But you know, I find all of this odd."

Tension returning in a heartbeat, Catherine stared at him. "Odd? What's odd?" Had he noticed her unusual interest in Sara?

"Cath, I've worked with you for years. We've had a dozen team members." Sitting forward in his chair, Grissom cocked an eyebrow. "And you've never once tried to promote any of them when it came time for a review. Is this about Sara? Or was that just a distraction so you could use your influence for your own benefit?"

Relief nearly made Catherine giddy. He hadn't noticed. He thought she was simply angling for a raise. It wasn't a bad plan. Latching on to that idea, Catherine slowly raised her hands over her head and gave a full body stretch. Grissom might be all scientist, but she was willing to bet he was still man enough to notice the motion.

He did, and she saw him swallow visibly as his eyes traced her breasts.

"Gil," Catherine said in a throaty voice, "I really only came down here to talk about the reviews." She lowered her arms and placed both hands on the edge of the desk. "If I really wanted to use my wiles…" Bending forward, she waited until Grissom's eyes dropped to the cleavage peeking from the top of her blouse, "you'd already have signed the request for my raise."


	41. Chapter 41

"Wow! If I knew there was going to be a show, I would have run the results over sooner." Greg's voice jerked Catherine attention away from Grissom. "Do you want me to put on some music? I have the perfect piece in the lab…"

Crossing her arms and glaring, Catherine didn't say anything.

Greg's impish smile faded immediately. "Uh…sorry, Cath. I didn't mean anything. I mean, you know I'm your biggest fan," he said earnestly.

Catherine relented. Greg was occasionally irritating, but he never intended anything more than fun. "Just remember to stay a fan, Greg. The last thing I need is another stalker. Eddie's enough for one lifetime." With a wink, she let him off the hook and turned back to Grissom. "You have any more questions for me or can I go back to my day off?" And trying to weasel more information out of Sara – if she had managed to shake off the effects of the hangover.

"No. No more questions." There was a very definite "for now" missing from the end of Grissom's answer. "Go home, Cath. And get some more sleep." He looked up at her with a frown.

She'd overplayed her hand, Catherine realized. Grissom might not understand what had motivated her actions, but he hadn't missed the fact that she'd been out of character. She'd have to watch him to make sure the Great Scientist didn't continue to dig for an explanation. "Oh, I'm sure I'll catch up on my sleep," she said as she backed away from Grissom's desk. "Nance has Lindsey until tomorrow. Can you imagine?"

Greg stepped into the office, giving Catherine a clear path to the door. "Hey, if you need someone to watch Linds, you know I'm up for it. She's a cool kid."

"Don't say that too often, Greg-o." Touching his shoulder on the way by, Catherine said, "I might take you up on it. And then you'd realize that 'cool' wears off after the first couple of hours." Pausing slightly right outside the office, Catherine gave an airy wave. "Later, boys. Don't have too much fun without me."

Two enthusiastic goodbyes followed her down the hallway.

***

The room wasn't as bright as Sara remembered it. Maybe her hangover was fading. Turning her head was a risk, and she braced for a return of the pounding behind her eyes as she looked at the clock.

Eight nineteen.

Was that morning or evening? With a grimace, Sara rolled farther and twisted until her feet dangled over the edge of the bed. Blinking her burning eyes, she managed to focus on the clock a second time. The tiny red dot next to the numbers cleared up the confusion over the time of day. Definitely evening. She's been out for nearly the entire day.

Backing up that thought, her stomach growled. "Guess the liquid breakfast diet isn't very filling," Sara mumbled. It didn't matter, though. There was no way she was making her way to the kitchen for food before hitting the shower. The stench of the smoke from the bar and the alcohol leaching from her body clogged Sara's throat. "Shower then food." Actually, she'd forgotten to add standing to the mental to do list. It took two tries to get her legs to work, and Sara staggered stiffly to the closet for clean clothes.

It was quiet in the hallway; although, the soft sound of voices drifted in from the living room. The television, Sara thought, noting the flickering lights and colors that accompanied the noise. Maybe she wasn't going to miss out on the Movie Night after all.

Despite a sudden increase in her heart rate, that provided enough incentive to get Sara moving faster. She completed the trip to the small guest bathroom and stepped under the warm spray. The water slowly worked on the lingering tension in her shoulders and helped with the ache in her head. Finally clean and at least partially revived, Sara dressed in a pair of faded jeans and t-shirt and braced herself.

Catherine, Lindsey, and movies waited for her. She'd told Catherine she could handle a night with them. Somehow, she'd uphold that vow.

Footsteps firmer and steadier, Sara walked down the hall and peered into the large, open living room. "Hey, Cath…" Where was Lindsey? And the kid-friendly movie? A local newscaster stared earnestly from the television and there was no small body curled up next to Catherine on the couch.

"Lindsey's at a slumber party. Nancy made the ultimate sacrifice and opened her home to a whole party of little girls." Not getting up, Catherine simply turned her head and looked at Sara. "I may never be able to pay her back." A tiny grin crept out. "But it sure was nice to have the extra sleep."

"Ah…yeah," Sara muttered. Her mind whirled. Had the sleepover happened because of her? There was only a tiny glimmer of relief mixed with the disappointment. "I'm sorry, Cath."

Catherine straightened and turned on the couch. "For what?" Her voice was bland; her eyes, though, told a different story. She knew exactly for what Sara had been apologizing.

Cheeks heating, Sara walked closer to the couch. It took all her willpower to keep her face expressionless. Unfortunately, her emotions slipped the leash when she confronted Catherine. "You need a list?" Sara asked, silently cursing the obvious bitterness in the words. That didn't keep her from continuing. "You're an investigator. A good one, as you keep pointing out. I bet you have it all figured out, don't you, Cath? My entire life, all catalogued and explained." Her hands twitched restlessly before closing into tight fists against her thighs. "I should have gone back to San Francisco." It had been safe there. No one had ever tried to breach the wall she'd put around her emotions.

"So you're a coward?" In a sudden surge, Catherine came off the couch and stalked toward Sara. "Why? I told you earlier that I won't tell the boys. God, Sara, I don't have all the details, just the little pieces you've dropped here and there. I'm your friend, not some coldhearted bitch who's going to use the information to keep my place as the Lead CSI."

She was too close. Too forceful. Sara fought the need to step away, to maintain her personal space. Stepping back would only give Catherine more evidence and confirm her suspicions. "I…I wasn't talking about that," she muttered sullenly. Well, not entirely, anyway. Catherine might have come off as arrogant and domineering when she'd first arrived in Vegas. Since then, though, she'd been helpful and supportive. Caught between humiliation at having revealed the secrets of her childhood and shame at the way she was acting now, Sara dropped her head. She had to stop this. Now. Before things went too far, and she couldn't repair the damage. "I know you won't turn my life story into gossip, Cath. I…"

Before Sara could ramble any further, Catherine gently touched her shoulder. "Sit down," she ordered softly. "Come on. I know you can't feel a hundred percent yet. Sit down, and let's talk. Whatever you want to tell me – or not – is fine, Sara. I'm your friend," Catherine repeated. "I'm here to listen and help, in any way I can."

Letting Catherine steer her to the couch, Sara wondered if she was still asleep and dreaming. Listen and help? That's what the horde of psychologists had said every time she'd given in and gone to one. They hadn't helped. They'd made her feel like a failure for letting her past continue to affect her life.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" If Catherine had noticed Sara's reluctance, she was ignoring it. She pushed Sara onto the cushions and draped an afghan over her legs. "I made some spaghetti for dinner. Garlic bread, salad… The works."

It sounded good, and Sara's stomach rumbled. She hadn't had anything solid since the night before, and the cold French fries were only a distant memory. "Not yet." Food could wait. If she stopped to eat, her mind would have time to come up with a way to avoid talking to Catherine. She couldn't let this sit anymore; the anticipation, the knowledge that Catherine would continue to push for answers... Her head pounded. Even worse, Catherine might just go looking for them information on her own.

"OK." Catherine stared at Sara intently for a second before sitting at the far end of the couch. "Let me know if you change your mind, and I'll heat something up."

Sara wanted to thank Catherine for the offer and for caring. She didn't. If she was going to do this, talk about her past, she had to do it now. Right now. Huddling under the afghan, Sara followed the advice she normally gave to suspects. She started at the beginning. "I grew up in Tamales Bay. It's a crappy little town outside of 'Frisco."

***

The words poured out of Sara in a monotone flood. Catherine started to reach out to her and remind her that this conversation didn't have to happen. By force of will, though, she kept her hands in her lap. Sara had made the obviously painful decision to share the story. It was time to sit back and listen to what she had to say.

"My parents," Catherine winced at the loathing Sara put into those two words, "ran a bed and breakfast right on the beach. It wasn't the most successful place. They weren't great at management, and the town isn't a big stop on the tourist train." She looked up and met Catherine's eyes, seeming to dare her to comment. "It isn't a new story. Money was tight. My dad drank to 'relieve the stress.' When that didn't work for him… Well, he had two perfect punching bags waiting at home after a night at the bar."

Frozen by the challenging gleam in Sara's eyes and the sheer horror of the story, Catherine braced herself and waited for the rest. There had to be more. A few bumps and bruises didn't explain everything she'd seen from Sara.

Something far worse lay at the heart of the panic attacks and Sara's empathetic response to the Collins' girls.

Something that had Catherine clenching her teeth and praying she was jumping to the wrong conclusion.

Sara paused, too, and continued to watch Catherine closely. When there was no response to her statement, she slowly resumed talking. "Maybe it would be easier for me if things had been different. Not so clichéd, you know?" Her lips twisted. "My father hit us. He'd start with my mother and then, when she was cowering and not enough fun, he came looking for me."

"Didn't anyone notice?" Catherine's voice shook slightly as she asked the question. She could see the image Sara was paining so clearly, and it made her want to pull Sara into a tight hug – right after paying a visit to the Sidles' seaside inn.

"Of course they noticed, Cath," Sara snapped. Her expressionless tone disappeared in a wave of anger. "I had bruises all over; although, my father was usually smart enough not to put them on my face. Even the worthless people in town might have done something about those. Just because they saw the evidence doesn't mean they were willing to step in."

Catherine flashed back to the bar and Sara's drunken rambling. "That's what you meant this morning. No one did anything to help; they only watched and felt sorry for you. They pitied you." Her voice echoed Sara's in volume as her anger at the unknown residents of Tomales Bay rose.

"Damn right." Slumping back against the couch, Sara slumped and seemed to lose her anger. Suddenly dwarfed by the high back of the furniture and hidden under the afghan, she muttered, "No one did anything…Not until my father graduated from simple physical abuse."

Maybe Sara had had the right idea. Catherine regretted eating dinner before listening to the story. Her stomach roiled at what she suspected was coming. "What did he do, Sara?"

The question was unnecessary. Sara was already continuing her tale. "He came home one night. Drunk, angry, looking for a fight. I was in bed, but I still heard them downstairs." Sara's words were clear and distinct, as if each one had been torn from individually her throat. "They were yelling, and he was hitting her. Then it got quiet, and I knew he'd come for me next. I tried to hide, but the only place was the closet. He found me in seconds and dragged me out."


	42. Chapter 42

Catherine wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to beg Sara to stop talking. She didn't want to hear this. Biting her lip, though, Catherine watched Sara through the tears she refused to shed.

"It was like a nightmare." Sara's voice faltered and grew softer. "He looked like something out of a terrible dream, only instead of coming _out_ of the closet, my father came _into_ it. I screamed and fought and begged…"

The first tear leaked out, burning a path down Catherine's face, as one hand crept up to cover her quivering lips. Dear God.

"It didn't help. In fact, I think the sound of my voice made him angrier. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. Before I could climb off and run away, he was on top of me," Sara continued. The words were a nearly indistinct mumble now, and she dropped her head forward, face obscured by her hair. "I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Bourbon. I'll never forget it. _Never_. Not that or the way his hands felt as the pushed up my shirt."

"Sara…" Catherine couldn't keep from saying. Her chest ached, and her view of Sara flickered. Instead of her living room and Sara's huddled form, all she could see was a much younger Sara, pinned to a bed by a man. A man who was her father.

As if Sara hadn't heard Catherine's horrified protest, she went on. "He laughed when I tried to bite and hit him. He _laughed_. He knew I couldn't get away." The words pulled Catherine back to the here and now. She saw Sara's arms wrap around her body as she huddled in the chair. "I knew it, too. I stopped fighting. It wasn't helping; he was going to win anyway." She fell silent for a second and then her head slowly came up.

The smile on Sara's face sent a wave of goose bumps over Catherine's skin.

"I gave up, Cath. And then he stopped. His eyes got wide and his mouth opened and closed a few times." Sara's smile went away, giving Catherine a good look at how pale the younger woman was. "I didn't understand what was happening until he slumped to the side and I saw the knife in his back and Mom standing right behind him."

***

As if the past had come to life, Sara heard her father's gasping breaths and her mother's sobs. She smelled the bourbon and the blood.

"What happened next, Sara?" The question seemed to brush against Sara's ear and she shivered. "Honey, please…" The voice quietly pleaded. "You need to tell everything."

"The police came," Sara answered reluctantly. As bad as the first part of her revelation had been, it had only gotten worse. The police had come, and her world – no matter how terrible - had crumbled. Lights and voices and a sea of pitying faces swam in and out of her vision. "They wanted to know what happened, too. They kept telling me I had to explain what happened." And they'd grown angry when she wouldn't tell them. "Over and over, they asked me that. What happened…" Shaking her head, Sara dispelled some of the images flooding her mind. "They knew the answer, Cath. Just like we always do. But they kept asking," she whispered, finally returning to the present enough to know who it was that sat so close, and who wanted her to finish her story.

Catherine inched even closer, creeping along the sofa cushion. "I'm sure they only wanted to make sure they had the facts right. I mean, your mother was protecting you, Sara. If you could help them prove that…"

Really? Sara didn't remember it that way. "No, she wasn't," she protested bitterly. It was important for Catherine to understand the way things had been in her family. Leaning her elbows onto her knees, Sara finished her explanation with her eyes locked onto the carpet between her feet. "She was mad at my father – but she was even madder at me, Cath. No matter how many times my father hit her, she didn't want anyone else catching his eye. Including me."

The dim light in her childhood bedroom had flickered off the knife when her mother had pulled it free of her father's body and brandished it at Sara.

"I thought she was going to kill me, too." A harsh laugh tore from Sara's throat. "She stood there, looking at me, holding the bloody knife."

Sudden warmth enveloped her hands, and she looked up. Catherine looked back from mere inches away, and her hands gripped Sara's tightly. A tear slowly streaked Catherine's face, and Sara saw the evidence of others staining her cheeks. "She didn't, though, honey. You're here, and your parents can't hurt you anymore."

The psychologists had said the same thing; although, Catherine's words sounded like a vow, a promise to keep Sara safe. "They can, Cath," Sara disagreed sadly. "They _do_. Every time I see Lindsey or another little girl – my _parents_ hurt me. The panic attacks, the migraines, the flashbacks…It's all because of _them_!" Sara tried to pull away. Damn it, she was so tired of people implying that she could simply forget her past. It wasn't that easy.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Catherine's apology froze Sara. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought it was easy to get over or that it was somehow your fault." She peered intently into Sara's eyes. "It _isn't _easy and it was _not_ your fault."

"I try to forget," Sara still insisted. "I've done everything the shrinks told me to do. Group therapy." She shuddered, remembering the eight other women crammed into an old office, each of them taking turns telling their horror stories. "Volunteering in daycares or schools."

"Dear God! Who did you see? Dr. Mengele?" Catherine's face twisted in distaste. "Why would anyone think you would be cured by working in a school?"

Since she'd asked herself that same question, Sara shrugged and offered a bitter smile. "I don't know. Shock therapy? That one was the last in a long line of shrinks. I guess he thought they'd tried everything else." The smile grew grim. "I didn't even make it inside the front door before the panic attack hit." She'd huddled in the front seat of her car, crying hysterically.

"I think you're doing much better on your own." With a tight nod, Catherine said, "You survived a picnic and breakfast with Linds. Maybe you should try to get a refund on all that therapy."

Catherine was so serious. So sympathetic. And yet the words struck Sara as funny. A chuckle – completely devoid of her earlier bitterness – escaped. "That's a good idea. I could probably retire, even if I only got part of my money back. I could afford to pay you rent, at least." The tight feeling in her chest eased, and Sara took a deep breath as she watched Catherine for a reaction.

A slow smile answered her teasing. "Good. I'd like to afford a good college for Linds when the time comes. WLVU was fine for me; my daughter, though…" Catherine shook her head. "She deserves more. I don't put up with Gil and the constant doubles for nothing."

"Ivy League all the way, Cath. I'll call some old contacts at Harvard. She'll be a shoe in." The knot in Sara's stomach slowly unraveled. She'd done it. She'd told Catherine about her past – and it hadn't sent either of them running for the door.

In fact, Catherine traversed the little remaining space between them and wrapped her arms around Sara. "I'm sorry, honey. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you."

Sara stiffened automatically, her new-found relaxation disappearing instantly. Catherine was too close. Her words too reminiscent of those uttered by the police and her neighbors after her father's death. Her hands reached for Catherine's shoulders. She had to get free. Now.

Before she could push away, though, Catherine released her and stood. "You never did say if you wanted anything to eat. Is your stomach settled enough for food or do you just want an aspirin cocktail and more sleep?"

***

Stretching in an attempt to appear relaxed and casual, Catherine watched Sara intently. She'd come very close to pushing the other woman away with the hug. Sometimes, reacting like a mother got her into trouble. That hug had been a bad idea. Catherine had known that. Even without a full understanding of Sara's childhood, it had been clear Sara hadn't been comfortable with people invading her personal space.

"Uh…" She could almost see Sara's mind trying to follow the sudden change in mood and topic. "Food sounds good, I guess." Her huddled posture had returned, and Catherine hated the hunched shoulders and muttered words.

"Great." Ignoring Sara's body language, Catherine acted as if nothing was wrong. As if Sara hadn't just revealed the dark and painful secrets of her past. She wanted to give the other woman room – and a chance to realized that, regardless of what she'd told Catherine, nothing between them had changed. That would come later, when Catherine had a chance to absorb the story and come up with a way to help Sara. "If you'd opted for painkillers, I was going to have to find a bigger container for the leftovers." Catherine picked up her empty glass from the coffee table and started for the kitchen. "I barely made a dent in the spaghetti," she casually added. Without waiting to see if Sara was following, she strode out of the living room.

The kitchen was still redolent with garlic and oregano. Catherine inhaled deeply, hoping the familiar scents would help her focus on something other than her desire to throw up. Sara's story, on top of the memory of Tina's confession… Catherine looked longingly at the phone on the wall. She needed to hear Lindsey's voice; she needed to remind Lindsey that she loved her.

"I can get my own dinner, Cath. My head might feel like an overripe melon, but my arms aren't broken," Sara said quietly behind her.

Lindsey would be hip deep in giggles and sugar right now. Catherine reluctantly turned her eyes away from the phone and opened a cabinet door. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked conversationally. "I'm a mother, Sara. We don't feel complete if we aren't waiting on someone." Then it hit her. Sara didn't _know_ how real mothers acted. She'd only had… Well, she didn't know. Catherine would have to teach her. Glancing over her shoulder, she winked at Sara. "I haven't had a cranky little girl driving me up the wall all night. Take advantage of the opportunity. Once Linds goes into her evil child routine, even my maternal instincts won't be enough, and you'll have to fend for yourself."

"Then thanks." Sara hovered in the doorway, and Catherine could almost hear the questions she didn't voice. This had to be hard for her. She was probably waiting for Catherine to react badly to the information on her past.

Catherine had no intention of doing that. She'd pushed Sara far enough, and there was no way she wanted to risk pushing Sara away. Sara needed a friend. A family. And a lot of support. "I will allow you to grab your own drink." Pointing to the refrigerator, she said, "But I don't recommend the beer. You look like the men with the hammers are still inside your head."

This was worse than sitting in Grissom's office, trying to tease information out of him. It was more complicated and potentially more problematic than living with Sara when her past was a secret. Catherine dragged her eyes away from Sara and went back to dishing up the spaghetti. She had to give Sara some space, and staring at her wasn't going to do the trick.

"No more hammers. Maybe just some of those foam pugil sticks." Catherine heard the refrigerator door open. "I'll use the aspiring cocktail as a dessert; that should do the trick." Bottles rattled for a second, and then the door closed again. "I didn't hear the phone ring. Did you unplug the phone in the guest room or did Grissom actually not call?"

Grissom. Great. Catherine concentrated on ladling sauce over the spaghetti noodles. "Oh, you don't have to worry about him. I decided I didn't want him calling every two seconds." The plate in her hands was ready. She couldn't hide anymore. Turning away from the stove, Catherine walked to the table. "I like to keep him off balance. You should have seen his face when I carried our completed reports into his office. It was like he was seeing a ghost."

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Sara stiffen. "He read the reports?"

"Yep. The Sheriff was about to go public with the details. Gil may not understand how to play politics, but even he's not dumb enough to give the Sheriff bad information." Catherine dropped into a chair and gestured to the food. "Come on. You don't want it to get cold."

Sara didn't move. "Did Grissom have any questions?" Her tone indicated that she knew he had – and that she didn't expect anything good from them.

"Oh, you mean about our methodology?" Catherine made sure to include both of them in the case work. "Don't worry about that, Sara. I explained we noticed a few anomalies in the girls' behavior and the crime scene photos." Her hand absently rose to check the buttons on her blouse. "He seemed a little preoccupied. Like there were other things on his mind."


	43. Chapter 43

Sara's eyes narrowed and Catherine fought the urge to wiggle under her gaze. "That's it? He didn't ask for details?" It was clear Sara thought that was unusual.

And it was. Gil had a thing for details. "I think he was working on another case." Catherine threw out a red herring. "And Greg came in as I was talking to Gil. Something about lab results. I guess that case he wanted us to stay for…" Nerves stretched to the breaking point by all the emotional revelations and the need to hide parts of the truth, Catherine dropped her eyes to the table and prayed Sara let the subject go.

"Huh. It must be something big. Gris is usually a pain about the details." Sara reached for a piece of garlic bread and shrugged. "For once, I'm glad he's slipping. There is no way I'd trust him with the truth." Voice growing ragged for a second, she continued. "He'd be poring over the case files and asking a million questions."

Amen to that. Catherine's stomach burned at the very thought of turning Grissom lose with the real reason they'd been able to solve the Collin's case – not to mention the information on Sara's past. "Well, I won't say anything. I told you that, honey. And you won't have to worry that he'll figure anything out on his own. Gil's not good at personal stuff. I think it took him almost a year to put all the pieces together after Eddie and I split up." A smile slowly crossed her face, despite the grim memory. "He found me curled up in the locker room, crying my eyes out, and he _still_ had to pester me with questions to get it."

Then Catherine relented. Grissom might have missed all the signs of the divorce, but he'd been there to help her after she'd told him the truth. "He's really good at protecting his family, though, Sara. That searching through the case files?" Looking back up, Catherine met Sara's eyes. "It would be his way of finding the best way to keep you safe from here on out."

"Yeah…" Sara wasn't buying the explanation. "I still don't want him to know." Breaking their eye contact, she stared fixedly at the tines of her fork as they restlessly played with the noodles on her plate.

It was time to back off. Completely. "Don't you like the food?" Catherine indicated Sara's plate. The spaghetti had been moved (repeatedly) from one side to the other. Only a couple of bites were missing, however. "I can get you something else, if you'd prefer." Catherine hadn't been serious when she'd offered aspirin and more sleep. If Sara didn't want a return of the headache, she needed to eat.

***

"No. No, this is fine, Cath," Sara protested automatically. She twirled her fork with more purpose and then stuffed a large bite of spaghetti into her mouth.

Catherine laughed. "You look like Linds. She'd eat nails to prove a point." Standing, she glowered; although, Sara saw the hint of a smile on her face. "Last chance. Is that going to do for you or should I start unloading the cabinets until you see something you _really_ like?"

Chewing was a challenge. Sara struggled to deal with the mound of noodles and sauce without exposing Catherine to the mess in her mouth. To give herself a little more time, she held up a single finger and worked harder.

Lounging against the counter, Catherine crossed her feet at the ankles and raised an eyebrow.

Finally swallowing, Sara dragged a napkin across her lips. "Are you like this with Lindsey? Geez, Cath." All the emotions from earlier…They faded under a wave of near giddiness, and she grinned. "The poor kid's going to be a mess of co-dependency. Here, honey, let me get you a cookie. How about a drink? I could run down the McDonald's and get you pancakes…"

"Bitch." Then Catherine laughed. "You caught me, Sara. It's easier to keep Linds home and devoted to me if I do everything for her," she said. Her pose relaxed and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I certainly don't want Linds deciding some boy is better than spending time with Mom, do I?"

"Good point." Sara slowed her eating so she didn't choke on another huge bite. Filling the hollow spot in her stomach was important, but there was no need to court indigestion. Adding a piece of bread to her plate, she frowned. "Cath…" The laughter was gone. Roller coaster emotions sucked, and Sara gripped an invisible safety bar and braced for the latest plummet. "Where do we go from here?"

Catherine must have been on a different ride. "Well, thanks to Nancy's offer to take Linds for the day, I never got any movies. That doesn't mean we don't have a hundred options sitting in the entertainment center. How do you feel about Disney movies?"

Putting her fork down, Sara rubbed her eyes. They burned – from exhaustion? The tears? The lingering hangover? Maybe all three.

"I'll take that as a 'never in a million years'." Catherine pushed away from the counter. "There are a few adult movies. Somehow, I didn't picture you as a tearjearker special girl. Pay per view? Or should we just curl up on the couch with one of those tomes you dragged here from San Francisco? Gil will give me a raise _and_ a promotion if you tell him you convinced me to actually read a journal article."

Sara's emotional roller coaster hit the bottom and zoomed around an unseen corner. She blinked and shook her head. Was Catherine being deliberately dense? "That wasn't what I meant," she mumbled. "What about earlier?"

That earned her a long look, and Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "Earlier…" Her voice was soft yet firm. "Earlier, I got to know my new coworker and friend a little better, that's all. The next time we manage to escape Gil and the Great Overtime Conspiracy, I'll do my turn at spilling my dark and dreadful past." Her eyes dropped. "It's a real treat, Sara. Drugs, booze, and stripping. Everything that gives Vegas its reputation."

The situation was sliding out of control. Sara recognized the signs. If they weren't careful, they were _both_ going to be sobbing into a drink and wallowing in the past. This time, Sara pretended to be obtuse. "I'm not really up for a drama tonight, Cath. Disney sounds perfect. One of my shrinks had a movie poster for _Finding Nemo_. You got that one? The little fish looked cute."

"I have little fish, big fish, talking ants…" Catherine's arms dropped away from her chest, and she picked up the empty garlic bread basket. "I can even scrounge up popcorn and some M&Ms, too. It will be like going to the movies – without the crying kids, ringing cell phones, and sticky floors."

"It's a date." Sara froze the second the words were out. Shit. That had come out wrong. Not wanting to upset Catherine, she rushed to explain. "Um…" She didn't get very far.

A tea towel sailed across the room and landed on her head. "It's a date," Catherine echoed. "I haven't been on one of those in years, and, if I remember right, he wasn't interested in watching the movie at all. You're a definite improvement, Sidle. Now stop doing your Nemo impression and help with the dishes."

Plucking the towel off, Sara stood up. "Yes, ma'am." Instead of snapping a salute, she snapped the towel, catching Catherine on the thigh.

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Careful…" Lips twitching, Catherine turned away and pulled the dishwasher open. "If you keep that up, Movie Night will be officially cancelled, and I'll forget that I have a machine to do all the washing. You can spend the evening with your hands in soapy water."

"You're a slave driver," Sara told her. "You didn't mention that before I moved in." Sliding her plate into the appliance, she shook her head. "What's next? Ironing the sheets? Bouncing quarters off the beds?"

"Not tonight. I only do that on Saturday morning." Catherine's smile was out in force now, and Sara found herself smiling back. "The rest of the week, I masquerade as a nice, normal mother."

Sara closed the dishwasher door and picked up the dishcloth draped over the side of the sink. "Maybe that apartment wasn't so out of my price range." Ignoring the dramatic pout she received at her comment, Sara wiped off the table. "I'll just explain the situation to Grissom; I'm sure he'd be willing to renegotiate my salary." She watched Catherine out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see what the other woman would come up with this time.

It was priceless. "You think Gil is going to bail you out?" Catherine's head dropped back and she laughed loudly. "Honey, he doesn't have a clue how to squeeze a dime out of the budget. The week after you got here, we ran out of swabs and gloves for the kits."

Tilting her head, Sara vaguely recalled that. "So? The kits were filled in a couple of days." At least, she thought they had.

"Actually, it was more like they were filled in a couple of hours." Still chuckling, Catherine pulled open a pantry door and grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn and a large bag of M&Ms. "I went to Gil about the problem and he gave me one of his patented 'What do you want me to do about it?' looks. I swear, I if I hadn't been right there in his office, he would have had us using sandwich baggies as gloves. Gil is a genius at cobbling together retro equipment."

As the popcorn began intermittent popping inside the microwave, Sara searched the cabinets for a bowl big enough for their movie treat. "He's not that bad," she quietly defended her mentor. "But you do seem to be his go to person when there's a problem." Recalling their previous discussion on promotions, Sara was hesitant to push. "Is there…is there a chance Gris would take a day or swing shift and leave you the night shift?"

"Oh, it might happen." Catherine didn't sound convinced of that. "I don't think it's likely, though. Day and swing are in the limelight a lot more, and I don't think Gil _or_ the Sheriff is ready for that. Besides, I'm happy where I am. There's enough money to pay the bills with a little left over for Linds' college and I can hide behind Gil when the politics start to fly."

In the last cabinet, Sara finally located the bowl. She sat it next to the microwave as it dinged. "Happy is good." She considered that. That was an interesting question. Was _she_ happy?

"It's the only way to be, believe me. I spent too many years on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum." Catherine opened the bag, hissing as the steam engulfed her fingers. "Damn. You'd think after all the times I've done this, I would remember this is hot."

Uneasily mulling over her emotional state, Sara had to forcibly refocus on the conversation. This was the wrong time for soul searching. Admitting her past to Catherine – on top of the Collins' case and her booze binge – would certainly skew any revelations Sara might have. Instead, she plucked the bag from Catherine's hands and expertly dumped its contents into the bowl. Then brandishing the empty bag, she said, "It says right on the top, 'Caution: Contents are hot.'"

"Thank you, oh wise one." With a flounce, Catherine turned toward the doorway. "Just for that, I might not share the M&Ms."

Oh, that meant war. Sara picked up the bowl of popcorn and clutched it to her chest. "Then I'll have to eat all the popcorn by myself." She sailed past a gaping Catherine and hurried into the living room. Settling on the couch, she made a production of piling pillows around her like a mini-barricade and placed the popcorn well inside its protections.

"Fine. You win." Catherine stuck out her tongue and held out her M&Ms. "Here. Take 'em. Just make sure I have some of those pillows and some buttery goodness when I come back."

Sara did a seated victory dance – and then knocked the pillow barricade down as Catherine hunted for the movie in the entertainment center. By the time the copyright warning flickered onto the television screen, she'd made a comfortable nest for both of them with the food in easy reach.

"Nice. You'll definitely do for date material, Sidle." Catherine sighed and wiggled against her share of the pillows. "Now, for the main event…" She turned up the volume with the remote. "Let's find Nemo."


	44. Chapter 44

"That was a riot." Sara stretched her legs and then her arms, groaning at the series of pops and creaks that followed. "But the writing? Come on. No kid is going to catch all those jokes."

A popcorn kernel flew out of the semi-darkness and plunked against her shoulder. "Sara, that's the beauty of Disney. Enough cute animals and singing to have the kiddies giggling. _And_ enough adult funnies to make their parents stay awake while the movie plays. It's genius." Catherine raised the remote, and the credits disappeared from the television screen. "You up for more? Or is it time for all overworked investigators to be in bed?"

Sara had slept enough already. Still… She glanced at Catherine and noted the bruising under her eyes. "Bed," she answered without hesitation. Once Catherine headed upstairs, it would be simple enough to bring some of her journals back into the living room and settle in for a good read.

Unfortunately, Catherine didn't buy Sara's response. "It's early, and you slept all afternoon. I'm supposed to believe you're ready to hug your pillow again?" Long fingers dug another kernel out of the bowl and brandished it at Sara. "Try again."

"Cath." Turning in her seat, Sara met the imminent threat of popcorn calmly. "You look like hell. I may have gotten sleep this afternoon. Did you?"

The kernel dipped – and Catherine's eyes flickered away.

"I didn't think so." Sara leaned forward, plucking the 'weapon' from Catherine's hand. "Earlier, you told me we were friends. You drugged me up and helped with the hangover." Glossing over the revelation of her past, Sara narrowed her eyes and attempted the look Catherine had given her in the kitchen. "Now I'm returning the favor and taking care of you. Go to bed, Cath."

"But I don't wanna," Catherine whined – and then grinned. "God, I've spent far too much time with Lindsey."

Sara didn't anything. Instead, she raised her left hand and pointed imperiously at the staircase.

A sandy eyebrow rose in response. "And you called me a slave driver." However, Catherine _did_ climb off the couch. "Thanks, Sar. I could use the rest, no matter how much I'd enjoy another round of Disney."

Feeling far more at ease with Catherine, Sara smirked. "I'm not some teenaged boy, Cath. Just because I didn't get you into my bed tonight doesn't mean the whole thing's off. I can wait one more date…"

"Smooth, Sidle. Very smooth. I'm definitely going to have to keep an eye on you." Catherine squeezed Sara's shoulder gently as she made her way around the couch. "You've probably perfected that accidental arm behind the back maneuver." Her voice grew softer and more indistinct as she climbed toward the second floor.

Sara laughed. "Night, Cath," she called out.

Silence descended over the living room immediately. At first, Sara was content to sit and stare at the blank television screen. It felt good to relax. To not think. Unfortunately, Sara wasn't adept at non-thinking. Alone and emotionally drained, she couldn't hold the memories away. The past soon invaded the peace and contentment surrounding Sara.

"_Did you hear?" The voice was muffled by the closed door, and Sara burrowed deeper under the covers, trying to ignore the conversation going on in the hallway. "The trial starts tomorrow. They said Sara might have to testify."_

_The warmth and comfort of sleep drifted further away. Stiff against the sheets now, Sara pressed both hands over her ears. _

_They made little difference. "I can't see why. I talked with her case worker a few days ago. The police have a mountain of evidence. Still… I guess they don't want to risk that woman getting off. Can you imagine? Stabbing her own husband while Sara watched."_

As Catherine's living room flickered in and out, entwined with the stifling darkness of the long-ago bedroom, Sara's hands tightened painfully around the popcorn bowl still resting on her lap. Damn it! Not now. Not after this evening and the tenuous happiness she'd felt.

A dull pounding began behind Sara's eyes.

_No!_

The scream came from past and present, mingling and growing until it filled Sara's mind. She wasn't letting this happen again. The past belonged in the past. Her father's murder, her mother's trial…

They were over.

Staring into the popcorn bowl with desperate concentration, Sara struggled to stay in the here and now. She dragged in deep, labored breaths. She counted. First the kernels in the bowl on her hands. Then the spines of the DVDs peeking out of the partially open entertainment center. The magazine titles strewn haphazardly across the coffee table.

With each number, the memories faded a little more and the headache dulled.

Sara didn't trust her control. Not without help. Springing off the couch, she gathered the remains of the Movie Night feast. Cleaning was supposed to be therapeutic. Unfortunately, two bowls didn't take long to wash, and the rest of the kitchen already gleamed.

Restless yet determined, Sara prowled the downstairs. She'd stopped the flashback. She needed to keep it away. A couple of forensics journals would keep Sara's mind too busy for memories. And… returning to the living room, she stuffed another random movie into the DVD.

She dropped onto the couch and opened the journal before the first happy song emanated from the television. Perfect. Disney's Little Mermaid would erase the suffocating silence

***

Catherine spotted Sara before she was halfway down the stairs. Sprawled on the couch, journal spread across her chest, and sound asleep. "I was joking about the reading," she muttered and then carefully skirted the living room on her way to the kitchen.

Coffee was a necessity. It was early, by Catherine's standards. In fact, the clock on the wall read nine fifteen. Even caffeine might not be enough. Not with Lindsey due home in less than six hours. Dumping grounds into the waiting filter paper, Catherine stifled a yawn. It was the same every week. Days off were for sleeping in and recharging – yet it somehow never worked that way.

Ah well. Shrugging philosophically, Catherine shoved the filter holder into place and poured water into the coffee maker. What was one more week with too little sleep and too much stress? As the first drip of coffee plunked into the pot, she idly wondered if her body would simply collapse without its usual stressors. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been fully rested and ready for a new week.

"Is that coffee?" Sara's sleep roughened voice spun Catherine around in shock.

Stifling a laugh at the wildly tousled hair sticking up in all directions on Sara's head, Catherine nodded. "Good call. Do you have a super nose or something? I just turned the machine on."

"Survival skill," Sara mumbled through a yawn. "It's how I lived through my first two years in Frisco. Mainlining caffeine wasn't an option so I learned to sniff out coffee at a hundred paces. I bet I found every coffee shop and java hut in the city by the end of my first month."

Catherine remembered her own first month. "I was a little better off. I mean, dancing isn't really something you do as a regular nine to five. The hours didn't bother me." Getting off the drugs, though… "I learned fast not to drink the crap in the break room. Grego wasn't around with his special blends back then. You could burn a hole through your stomach lining in one sip. There used to be a thermos in my 'go bag' so I didn't doze off at a scene."

"Did that." Sara shuffled into the room and dropped into a chair. "Once." A wry smile twisted her lips. "I never made that mistake again. A couple of the guys found me in the van. By the time they were finished…" Her eyes met Catherine's for a split second. "Let's just say that girls at a slumber party are nicer."

"Photos and a mock crime scene?" Catherine could almost see the sleeping Sara surrounded by drug paraphernalia or sado-masochistic equipment while her smirking teammates used up the film.

Sara's blush was all the answer Catherine needed.

Chuckling, Catherine turned away and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. "Hazing is universal." She wondered if any of the evidence was still floating around the San Francisco crime lab. They'd be worth whatever favors she had to promise to get copies. Hoping to hide her evil plot, Catherine asked over her shoulder, "You want something to eat?"

"I don't know, Cath. Are you as domineering over cereal as you are with spaghetti?" Sara sounded more alert – and more relaxed than Catherine had ever heard her.

Catherine didn't answer immediately. Instead, she carefully filled both mugs and then walked to the table. "Only with Linds. I swear she'd be happy with a handful of jelly beans or a candy bar in the morning. If I don't snarl and snap, she'd never eat real food." The coffee was hot and bitter, and Catherine felt better as soon as she took the first sip. "I was thinking something better than cereal, though. How about the buffet at the Rampart?"

"Sounds good. I'm starved." Sara gripped her mug and stretched. "But I can live on cereal, you know. You don't have to treat me to an expensive meal. I'm a cheap date."

The opening was too easy to resist. "So I don't have to spend a lot of money to get you to put out?" Catherine wanted to slap a hand over her mouth as soon as she asked the question. She buried her face in her mug, feeling the heavy silence across the table. Maybe she should have taken her coffee upstairs. Catherine wasn't ready for company until she'd had at least two cups.

"Cath…" Sara's voice trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. " Forcing herself to look up, Catherine grimaced. "Can we blame it on lack of caffeine and move on? I promise to be on my best behavior if we go to breakfast. No more caveman come ons. I'm hungry, too, and I have absolutely no desire to cook or eat sugary cereal."

Sara's cheeks were still pink, but she grinned and winked. "I'll hold you to that. I'd like to see what a well behaved Catherine acts like. All I've seen is her evil, bitchy twin." She hopped up from the table. "Give me a few. I never go out on a date without looking my best."

Catherine watched her go and shook her head. God, she had to get control of herself. All of the teasing might work with Nick or Warrick. They knew her. And they were comfortable with it. Catherine didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing with Sara. Not now. Not with them on such shaky ground thanks to yesterday's events.

It was so easy to forget, though. Sara was a lot like Grissom, in many ways. Especially when it came to normal, personal interactions. Catherine enjoyed poking and prodding and watching for Sara's reactions.

She'd have to bide her time. Ease Sara into it.

Catherine topped off her coffee and strode from the kitchen. Sara wasn't the only one who needed to freshen up.

***

The parquet flooring gleamed and the air was hushed as Catherine ushered Sara inside the Rampart's main doors. A line of people snaked through the lobby from the entrance to the buffet. "Looks like I wasn't the only one wanting to avoid cooking."

Sara shrugged. "I don't mind waiting. You can spend the time filling me in on all the casinos and hotels in Vegas. I've only been in a couple – and on cases both times." Taking a spot at the tail end of the line, she scanned the lobby. "This one is a lot smaller than the Bellagio. And where's the casino? This looks like a hotel. I thought we'd open the door and fall over the slot machines."

The ever-present Las Vegas reputation. Catherine snorted. "It's not _all_ about the gambling." At Sara's raised eyebrow, she laughed. "OK. It's mostly about that. But that doesn't mean it has to look that way." Pointing to a recessed archway across the lobby, Catherine explained. "Most of the hotel and casino combinations keep the game floors accessible, while disguising their seedy nature. You have to know what to look for to find the tables and slots. The rest of the hotel is just that. A hotel. A place you can take your kids and your spouse for a luxurious weekend away."

The slight lift to Sara's eyebrow gave away her disdain.

"Not everyone comes to Vegas to gamble, Sar." Steering Sara forward in time with the moving line, Catherine waved a hand at the ornate hotel lobby. "Shopping, shows, amusement parks…"

Her list might have continued if a deep voice hadn't interrupted. "Maybe I should hire you to run our PR department, Catherine."


	45. Chapter 45

It was a voice straight out of Catherine's childhood. So much for waiting before indoctrinating Sara into the trials and tribulations of her own past. Spinning slowly, Catherine smiled at the dapper, formally dressed man standing a few feet away. "Hello, Sam. I didn't expect to see you here." If she had, Catherine would have insisted on eating at the Bellagio.

"Come on, Muggs. You know better than that." Arms extended, Sam wrapped Catherine in a hug. "It's been too long. Too long. How's Lily?"

"She's fine, Sam." Still waiting for him to call or come home. Catherine kept that thought to herself. "How about you? Still playing with the high rollers or are you finally slowing down?" Stepping out of Sam's hug, Catherine closed the gap that had grown between her and the couple in front of her and Sara in line.

Sam avoided the question. His smile never dimming, he turned his attention to Sara. "Sam Braun. In case Muggs hasn't mentioned me, I'm an old friend of the family."

Catherine ground her teeth. Old friend. John was more like it… Her inner tirade was interrupted by Sara's reply.

"Mr. Braun. Catherine _did_ mention you; just not by name." From Sara's cool smile, Catherine got the impression her friend had been paying attention when she'd mentioned Sam.

"She did?" Sam seemed pleased and then his gaze sharpened. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss…" He didn't bother to wait for Sara to fill in the blanks. "I thought I knew everyone in Muggs' life."

What? Catherine stiffened. She hadn't seen Sam in years. How could he claim to know _anyone_ in her life? "Sam…" She bit off the rest of her question. Despite his disappearance from her life, Catherine knew him well enough to realize accusing him of spying on her would be a bad idea. Instead, she took a deep breath and continued quietly. "This is Sara, a friend and co-worker."

"Sara." If anything, Sam's smile grew wider. "Any friend of Muggs is family." Reaching out, he put a hand on Catherine's shoulder. "You two shouldn't be waiting in line. This is my place, and my girls deserve better. Come on." He gently propelled Catherine away from the restaurant. "We can use my private dining room. A private place for us to catch up."

Catherine tried to derail her trip across the lobby. Planting both feet on the marble floor, she managed to stop their progress. "Sam, I don't want to interrupt your day. I know how hard it is to…"

Her argument didn't work. "Muggs, if the people I hire can't keep this place running for an hour without me then I'll have to look for new ones." Sam's hand pressed into her lower back again. "Besides, both the boys are here this morning. It'll be a good time for them to show me what they've got."

Great. Catherine resumed moving but shot an apologetic look at Sara, who trailed along behind them.

***

Sara watched Catherine try to outmaneuver Sam and fail. It looked like she was getting a big dose of Catherine's mysterious past over breakfast – even if Catherine hadn't planned on it. They ducked down the recessed hallway hiding the casino, and Sara had to speed up when Sam opened a doorway marked Employees Only.

The new hallway was a far cry from the lobby or the entrance to the casino.

Bright lights and chipped linoleum stretched the length of the hall. Sara counted six doors on either side. "Welcome to the _real_ Rampart, Muggs," she heard Sam tell Catherine. "This is where the magic behind the mirror happens." His voice echoed oddly in the hushed atmosphere of the corridor. "Come on. Let's eat and then I'll give you the grand tour. As an investigator, you'll appreciate our setup."

From her frown, Catherine had her doubts about that. Sara idly wondered why she hadn't put a stop to Sam's plans. Catherine had never been shy about letting the people around her know her thoughts and opinions. Of course, if Sam had been more than just a frequent, night-time visitor for Catherine's mother… Family dynamics were rarely dictated by logic.

Maintaining her silence, Sara continued to follow Sam and Catherine. In the first door on the right, through the cluttered storage room, and into a cramped service elevator where Sam used a keycard to get the elevator moving. No one spoke as the numbers above the door lit, the accompanying dings loud and mechanical.

"Ah, here we are." Sam's voice was annoyingly cheerful as the car finally stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open. He stepped out of the elevator – and this time, there was neither linoleum nor marble. Plush carpet stretched as far as Sara could see. The size of the room wasn't readily apparent, thanks to the mirrors lining the walls. "There are drinks on the side table. Give me a minute, and I'll have the kitchen set up a buffet."

He strode away, and Sara raised an eyebrow. "Is he always like that?"

"You mean high-handed and arrogant?" There was wry amusement and an undercurrent of resentment in Catherine's voice.

Moving farther into the room, Sara shook her head. "Actually, I figured Sam was always like _that_. I meant the smile. If those teeth are real, he must have someone on staff to polish them every day." She watched Catherine closely. "The shine nearly blinded me."

Catherine's frozen expression thawed. Then she chuckled. "You're so bad, Sidle."

"No one's ever told me that before." Feeling less tense now that Catherine was back to something approaching normal, Sara walked across the room. The far wall wasn't a mirror. In fact, the closer Sara got, the more it looked like…curtains. Excellent. Sara searched diligently until she found the switch plate on the wall.

The room flooded with light as soon as the heavy drapes slid aside.

"Nice view, huh?" Catherine had moved up behind Sara.

"Not bad," Sara answered dryly. "I guess owning a casino pays better than investigating murders." The lights of the city looked beautiful from her vantage point high above most of the surrounding buildings. "Cath…" It was time for some information sharing. "What are…"

Unfortunately, Sam was back. "You've found one of the reasons I use this room so often." He pointed at the wall of windows. "There's nothing like it." One of his hands caressed Catherine's shoulder. "Come on. I've got breakfast on the way. Let's catch up."

For her part, Sara wasn't really ready to join in the conversation. A quick glance at Catherine convinced her that she wasn't alone. "Thanks," she said quietly, despite her reluctance. They were here; they'd simply have to make the best of the situation.

"My pleasure." Gesturing to a long, gleaming table that Sara had somehow missed on her trek to the windows, Sam said, "Have a seat. It shouldn't be long." Then his attention focused on Catherine. "Muggs, what have you been up to lately? I lost track of you once you left the stage; although, I run into Eddie occasionally. Some of his acts work in the Rampart or one of my clubs."

Sara picked a chair strategically wedged between a fake plant and an adjacent wall. Sam wasn't interested in her story. Catherine's life held center stage – and something about that made her uncomfortable. She didn't trust Sam. He smiled too much, reminding her of a used car salesmen.

Or of the perps protesting their innocence in the interview room.

"If you've been running into Eddie, Sam, you should know a lot of things. He's never had a problem sharing our personal lives," Catherine answered as she sat down across from Sara, leaving Sam the chair at the head of the table.

For the first time, Sam's smile faltered. He recovered almost instantly, though. "Now, Muggs, don't be bitter. Marriage…love…they never turn out the way we plan." Reaching across the table, he patted Catherine's hand. "Look at me and your mother."

He might have gone on if Catherine hadn't interrupted. "I'd rather not."

Sara covered her grin with her hand. Sam was an idiot. Even if he _hadn't_ gotten a sense of Catherine's broken marriage from Eddie, she'd done little to encourage his questions. And he clearly hadn't caught her transparent disdain for his relationship with Lily.

"Fine. Be that way." Sam _might_ have been teasing; Sara wasn't sure. There was an edge under his forced joviality. "How about work? Is that a safe subject?"

"You want to talk about dead bodies over eggs and bacon?" As if summoned by Catherine's disbelieving question, a crew of uniformed servers exited the elevator behind them, each pushing a covered cart. "It doesn't fit your image, Sam. Don't you have people who handle that for you?"

The conversation appeared to be spiraling out of control. Not particularly hungry any longer, Sara stretched her legs out under the table and considered her options. Whatever was going on between Catherine and Sam was none of her business. Except…the thought rang hollow when Sara repeated it to herself. Catherine had changed since Sam arrived. When they'd left the house, she'd been happy, teasing, and relaxed. Now?

Now her expression bore the same chill, mocking smile Sara remembered from her first few days at the lab.

Trying to look nonchalant, Sara reached beneath the lip of the table and tilted her pager enough to see the display. Empty. Damn it, where was Grissom and an urgent case when you needed one? She glared at the tiny screen, willing it to light up and the normally annoying beep to sound.

Instead, it remained stubbornly silent as Sam and Catherine stared at each other. "Catherine," it was the first time Sam had used that name, "I'm sorry if you're angry with me. I didn't mean to cut you out of my life, but…"

One of Catherine's hands shot up in a clear "stop" gesture. "Please, Sam. We both know I wasn't _in_ your life to begin with. I was only a part of the pretend life you had; the one you ran to when your wife and your sons and the casinos got to be too much." The hand dropped, smacking the tabletop. "Unfortunately, my mother didn't…still doesn't understand that. Have you told _her_ you're sorry? Invited her to your private dining room for catching up?"

Sam's smile wavered and then disappeared. His eyes flickered to the group of hotel employees doing their best to pretend they weren't hearing the juicy details of his private life. "No, I haven't. You know I haven't." The words were quiet and resigned. "I haven't spoken to Lily in years."

Sara watched him rub a hand over the back of his head and realized her own muscles were stiff and strained. Rolling her head in response to the feeling, she risked a glance at Catherine. The mockery was gone, and now Sara saw the shadows in her eyes.

So much for their friendly day out.

"Then why are we here, Sam?" Catherine's voice was quiet now, too. "I've been here dozens of times for meals and to throw away a few dollars at the slots. You've never _once_ come down to visit. Why now?" Her implication was clear. Sam hadn't wanted to catch up. He needed something.

Less than a second later, Sam confirmed the belief. "I've got a problem, Muggs, and I need your help."


	46. Chapter 46

"Did the ghost of Bugsy Siegel come back to demand his due?" Catherine seemed singularly unimpressed with Sam's plea for help. "Or is Tony still hooked on the good stuff?"

All of Sam's composure disappeared. Eyes flashing, he leaned across the table. "I'm not joking, Catherine." Then, as if physically keeping himself from saying more, Sam pressed his lips together and dropped his eyes. A long minute passed. "You know me, Muggs. You know I'm a self-made man." He slowly raised his gaze. "How often do you think I ask _anyone_ to help me out of a jam?"

Sara sat completely still in her chair, afraid even a stray muscle twitch would interrupt the conversation. The wait staff had vanished. The large room echoed with silence as Catherine and Sam squared off over the plates of rapidly cooling food.

"What kind of trouble, Sam?" Catherine broke first. "And how do you think I can help?"

Despite initiating the topic, Sam suddenly appeared reluctant to talk about it. He stood abruptly, tossing his monogrammed napkin onto his plate. "What do you know about the robbery at the First Monument Bank?"

"A crew went after some safe deposit boxes, shot a cop." Catherine looked at Sara and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

What did the bank have to do with Sam? He was clearly Old Vegas. Bank robberies didn't fit. Some old fashioned extortion and leg breaking, sure. With a shrug, Sara silently indicated that she shared Catherine's confusion and lack of understanding.

Giving voice to their lack of comprehension, Catherine murmured, "What does all that have to do with you, Sam?

Again, he avoided an immediate and direct answer. "Did you know there is still a stigma for people who operate casinos?"

Really? Sara hid her disbelieving laugh in a strangled cough. It was enough to draw Sam's attention to her, and she cleared her throat and reached for her drink to cover her sudden discomfort. "I didn't know that…stigma had anything to do with bank heists." Discomfort aside, Sara was tired of Sam's game. Sarcasm filled her voice. "Or are you in for a little murder?" She enjoyed the way he flinched at the reminder of the slain officer.

"No." Sam tried to smile, and it failed miserably. He gave up on the attempt and glared at Sara, lips a tight line. "It appears that one of my employees doesn't share my feelings on robbery and death, however. Your friends in the Sheriff's office identified a suspect in the case. A valet at the Rampart, Larry Whiting."

Still not sure of how that connected to Sam's plea for help, Sara pushed her empty glass away and leaned back in her chair. She was done with the conversation. This was Catherine's problem. Actually, she mentally clarified, _Sam_ was Catherine's problem.

As if she had heard Sara's internal comment, Catherine picked up the conversational ball. "I'm guessing the stigma you mentioned means that the Sheriff thinks there's a connection between you and Whiting."

***

"He's had deputies trawling through all of my casinos, Muggs, and my lawyers tell me warrants will probably come down soon." Sam sighed and rubbed at his neck. It was the first time Catherine had seen him look so old. So vulnerable. "I don't have anything to hide. Not anymore." The admission was wry – as was the look he gave her. "Whatever the locals and the FBI believe, I don't have any connections. But having all the attention isn't good for business."

She was missing something. Catherine frowned and replayed their conversation. Sam wanted her (and Sara) to look into the case. Why? There had to be more than some tenuous link between Whiting and Sam. What did the Sheriff think was Sam's motive? "What aren't you telling me, Sam? As much as I hate to say this, the Sheriff isn't in the habit of coming after high profile businessmen without a solid reason." It would damage his political aspirations too much.

"You tell me, Muggs." Leaning forward, Sam reached for Catherine's hand. "I have no idea what the Sheriff has in mind. I didn't know Larry Whiting. He was a valet, for God's sake. If he'd worked inside the casino as a pit boss or a high-stakes dealer, maybe. I make it a habit to visit people who handle large sums of my money."

"You don't cruise through the parking lot?" The question was a lame jab, giving Catherine time to consider the new information. In spite of her protest, the Sheriff had made some truly monumental mistakes with cases in the past. Was this one of them? Was he going after Sam to court votes? A man of Sam's stature – if he was guilty – would be a huge feather in the Sheriff's re-election cap.

Gripping the back of the chair in front of him, Sam ignored the mocking question and expanded on his request for help. "I'm not asking you to steal evidence or even interfere in the investigation, Muggs. All I want is the same information you just asked about. Why? Why is the Sheriff trying to pin a bank robbery, of all things, on me? I don't need to break into a vault if I need cash. I have several of my own, and I know the combinations to all of them."

Catherine nodded slowly. "I see your point," she allowed. That didn't mean Catherine was satisfied with his explanation, however. "You mentioned lawyers. They have to know what the Sheriff has on you." When Sam's lips tightened further, she held up a hand. "Sorry. What the Sheriff _thinks_ he has on you. What do you expect me to tell you that they can't? I work in a lab, Sam. I see evidence, not the case the DA may be building."

"That's just it, Muggs." Suddenly more energized, Sam paced back and forth along the length of the table. "You see the evidence. You can see what's really there, and not what some prosecutor's imagining as he plans his big career move. Busting me… It would go a long way toward a seat in the Governor's mansion."

Glancing at Sara, Catherine tried to read the other woman. She didn't trust Sam. Not since she'd learned the truth about her mother's "friend" as a teenager. Sara didn't have all of her baggage to shift through, though. If _Sara_ believed Sam was sincere...

A barely noticeable headshake answered, and Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "Why all of this?" Sara's question was quiet, yet still intense. Catherine reasoned that Sara didn't trust Sam, either. "Why not pick up the phone and call Catherine at the office? If you really don't have any connection to the case, why go to all the trouble to arrange that meeting downstairs? We all know you didn't accidentally run into Catherine this morning."

Sam came to a halt, facing Sara. "I don't know who you are, Ms. Sidle. This is between me and Muggs."

"No," Catherine quickly denied. "We're all in this now, Sam. You brought both of us up here to wine and dine and convince of your innocence. It's too late to back out. Sara's right. I might have hung up the first few times you called, but eventually, I would have listened to what you had to say. There's more going on here than you've said." And that one point made Catherine's decision easier. She stood in one smooth motion. "Find someone else to play your games with, Sam." Quoting one of her least favorite Grissom lines, Catherine continued. "The evidence doesn't lie. If you really have no part in the robbery, not even a corrupt Sheriff or a glory-seeking DA will be enough to make a case." She waved a hand at Sara before striding toward the door.

"Muggs, please!" Catherine didn't hear Sam's footsteps, thanks to the thick carpeting, but she did feel his hand as it closed on her arm. "You have to help me." Pulling her to a halt, Sam glared down at her. "Damn it, Cath. Why are you doing this to me? Are you still mad because of your mother?"

Tensing against his hold, Catherine glared back. "Mad?" Dear God. Sam was an idiot. "Mad doesn't even _begin_ to describe how I feel about the way you treated my mother." And me. She bit back that admission, knowing that Sam would probably never understand. "This isn't about Lily, though. This is about _you_. You and your lifestyle. You and the casinos. You and that Mob connection you deny." She took a violent step backward, Sam's fingers scraping her upper arm as she pulled free. "It's about you using me to protect your own ass."

The hiss of the air conditioner and a distant electrical hum from the elevator behind Catherine seemed suddenly loud.

Into that vacuum, Sara's voice was shockingly loud. "Mr. Braun, thanks for breakfast." Her hand was soothing as she gently maneuvered Catherine backward. "But we have to go. Cath promised to show me the sights."

Catherine thought briefly of resisting Sara's urging. She had more she wanted to say to Sam.

A lot more.

"Cath…" This time, Sara's voice was a mere whisper of warning.

Acceding reluctantly, Catherine fired one last, parting shot. "Goodbye, Sam. Good luck with the Sheriff and that glory-seeking DA." Her eyes met his for a second before she turned away. "I'm sure the evidence will point to the real killer."

The walk to the elevator felt like miles. Catherine's legs felt numb, and she struggled to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. Her head pounded and whirled at the same time. She couldn't think. She couldn't feel. Or… Maybe Catherine felt too much.

Sara's voice was an indistinct mumble behind her, mixing with the muted rumble of Sam's reply. Catherine ignored that, punching the call button for the elevator with unnecessary force. She needed to leave. Now. Unfortunately, the elevator wasn't listening to Catherine's inner urge to flee.

"You need this, Cath." Sara reappeared at Catherine's side, extending a plastic card for the key slot below the call button. A light ping sounded, and the doors slid smoothly open.

Face burning, Catherine stepped into the waiting car and avoided looking at Sara. Even with her eyes averted, though, she could feel Sara's gaze. "Sara…"

She wasn't ready for Sara's husky chuckle. "God, Cath, you should have seen your face. It was priceless. If I hadn't come along with the card key, how long would you have stood there?" Sara grinned engagingly. "Not to mention the fact that Sam lost his polish. He'll have to hire a whole new crew to help him get rid of the scowl lines and wrinkles. Do you think he's got a plastic surgeon on staff?"

Catherine chanced a look at Sara. Behind the laughter and the teasing lilt, Sara stared back soberly. She wasn't taking Sam – and his problems – lightly. "Oh, at least one per hotel." Following Sara's lead, Catherine kept her comment light. "The signs of aging can happen anywhere, you know." Slowly, responding to the new tilt to Sara's lips, Catherine let the anger go. "Thanks for the backup, Sara. Sam and I go way back, obviously, and he's always been good at pushing my buttons."

"I think Sam is used to doing that with everyone, Cath." Sara stopped talking as the elevator reached the ground floor and they exited into the service hallway. Continuing in a lower voice, she said, "Like the man boasted, he's self-made. A millionaire in Vegas. You don't get that high without being a master manipulator."

Somehow, the words didn't make Catherine feel less like an idiot. She knew what Sam was like. As soon as he'd approached them in the lobby, Catherine should have been dragging Sara for the door.

Her preoccupation with "should haves" ended abruptly when Sara poked her shoulder.

"Ow! Has anyone told you that you have bony fingers?" Catherine complained, rubbing at the (not) sore spot on her arm.

A second passed. Then two. Sara's face went bright red then ghostly white and then settled on a rosy pink. "No. No, I haven't heard that comment before." Before Catherine could make sense of the reaction, Sara hurried on. "Let it go, Cath." She opened the door at the end of the hallway. "Stop thinking about Sam and about how breakfast didn't turn out the way you planned it – and start deciding where you're taking me to lunch. I got one piece of bacon down before you and the Godfather started swinging."


	47. Chapter 47

"You think with your stomach," Catherine griped. "I'm up there dealing with the ghosts from my past, and all you care about is bacon." She scowled playfully at Sara, the last of the tension slowly dissipating. "Are you sure Linds is _my_ kid and not yours?"

For once, mention of Lindsey didn't send Sara into a panic. Catherine watched Sara's smile widen as her left eyebrow rose. "Cath, you know me better than that. I'm pure as the driven snow. How would I have had a daughter, locked away in my blue-coated tower?"

The image Sara in a stiffly starched lab coat, languishing in a tower lab, was too much. Catherine threw back her head and laughed as they exited the private hallway. Several of the people hurrying toward the casino glanced their way. Some even smiled at the sound of her merriment. "Honey, even _I_ know there are ways for lesbians to have babies. And pure? I doubt you've ever been celibate, Sidle. Not with your looks."

The shared smiles from their audience faded, replaced with slack jaws and wide eyes.

"Oops?" Catherine quickened her pace and risked a glance at Sara.

Sara's cheeks were fiery red.

Oh, shit. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that out loud." Trying to backpedal – and apologize – Catherine continued in an embarrassed mumble. "It was supposed to be funny. And it was. In my head. I know I promised not to…"

The flood of words stopped when Sara snickered. "You're priceless. Better than TV," Sara announced. "I thought it was a riot when you gave the elevator Mom Glare. This, though…"

Catherine couldn't decide if she should be angry or amused at Sara's new spate of laughter.

"All those people. My God, they won't even care if they win the jackpot. All they'll be talking about with the folks back home is the pair of dykes discussing insemination methods in the hallway." The gap between Sara's teeth flashed as she smiled.

Amusement won out. There was no way to resist the pull of that smile. "Oh, they won't say anything, Sar." Getting into the spirit of things since Sara hadn't run for the hills, Catherine flung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Haven't you heard?" she murmured, tilting her head until her lips were inches from Sara's ear. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

***

Nothing Sara did stopped the shudder – or the goose pimples covering her neck – in response to the feel of Catherine's breath brushing her ear. "That's…" Her voice cracked. "That's true?" Sara finally got out. "I thought that was an ad campaign."

"Oh, it is. A good one, you have to admit." Catherine's arm eased but remained loosely around Sara's waist. "You wouldn't believe the number of people we interview who seem to think that no one back home will ever know about the hooker or the fact they lost everything at the card tables." Tilting her head back, Catherine sucked in a deep breath. When she resumed speaking, some of the humor had slipped from her voice. "Maybe it's not such a bad plan, though. I mean, wouldn't it be nice to go somewhere. Anywhere. Do whatever you want. Then go back to real life with no one to judge."

Before she could censor the words, Sara replied, "Try P-town.".

That earned her a raised eyebrow and a hip bump from Catherine. "Please. We both know that would only cover sleeping with you and a dozen other women." So Catherine knew Provincetown. Before Sara could question her knowledge, Catherine continued. "What if I wanted to masquerade as a high-stakes poker player? Or rub elbows with the whales at the Foundation Room? Can they match that in the lesbian mecca of North America?"

Catherine had a point. Sara heaved a dramatic sigh. "You're such a femme, Cath. Not everyone wants to dress up and play prima donna with the rich and famous. How about a flag football game instead?" It didn't take much imagination to envision Catherine lounging on the bleachers as a host of dykes fought over the football – and a chance to impress their audience.

Catherine. On the bleachers. In shorts and a tank top.

Stopping abruptly in the middle of the parking lot, Sara didn't even _dare_ to look at the woman next to her. No one would be watching the game. No. They'd all be ogling Catherine.

Including her.

"Sar?" Catherine was frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Only her overactive imagination. And her libido. Hiding that realization with a shoulder bump of her own, Sara worked to keep things light. "I think the thought of sun and sand and no dead bodies was too much for me." She reluctantly left Catherine's embrace and walked to the passenger side of the Tahoe. "Either that, or I got too weak from hunger to keep going. You never know…"

The door locks clicked open. "One track mind. God," Catherine grumbled, "I thought Eddie was bad."

If Catherine only knew. A blush crawled up the back of Sara's neck and heated her ears. "Nice. I can't believe we've gotten to that point already. Geez, Cath. I thought I'd get at least a year of wedded bliss before the comparisons started." She settled into the bucket seat with a mock pout. "I moved all the way from Frisco because you asked. For this? There were scores of adoring women on the Castro who would appreciate my talents."

Catherine's chuckle sounded over the engine. "Honey, there are scores of women here, and for the right amount of money, they'll be adoring, too."

It was too much. Sara's embarrassment faded and she laughed "That sounds _so _bad, Cath."

"It's the truth," Catherine assured her. "One, prostitution is legal here so pros are big in numbers." Her eyes glinted when she glanced Sara's direction. "You wouldn't have to go hunting for one. And two, most dancers don't start out doing more than showing skin, but after a while… Well, customers are a quick way to score."

"Is that how Eddie hooked you?" Damn it. Sara straightened in her seat. She hadn't meant to ask that. Not now. "Cath, I'm…"

Not letting Sara apologize, Catherine said softly, "No. No I was clean when I met Eddie. Just dancing."

Slowly relaxing, Sara turned slightly so she could watch Catherine. A Catherine who appeared strained. And sad. Her fingers were tight around the steering wheel and she no longer looked anywhere except the road ahead.

"He was handsome, and charming, and he didn't treat me differently despite what I did for money." Catherine's lips twisted. "Hell, Eddie was a big deal back then. He had connections – good ones – in the music industry. I felt like Mom with Sam. Special. Loved. And I didn't have to worry about the real wife and kids ever finding out."

When Catherine lapsed into silence, Sara didn't push for more. She'd heard enough. The Eddie Willows she'd seen in the lab hadn't looked like a big deal. In fact, he'd looked like a user – of people _and_ drugs. It was hard, though, to visualize Catherine young enough to need anyone like Eddie. Not now. Her Catherine…_This _Catherine was too confident and comfortable with herself to rely on anyone.

"Unfortunately, Eddie made a few really bad choices. Contracts never materialized or the bands flopped." The blinking turn signal was shockingly loud for a second. "And the money and the future dried up." Catherine shrugged. "It's a typical story from here, I'm afraid, Sara. Man meets girl, man showers her with money and favors, man marries girl. Then the money goes away."

Yeah, it was typical. As a CSI, Sara had seen the fallout of this scenario many times at crime scenes. "Man finds a medicinal way to soothe his masculine pride," she said, continuing Catherine's story.

"Man hooks wife so she won't wake up and leave him." Catherine pulled the Tahoe into the lot of The Original Pancake House and parked in what appeared to be the only empty spot.

"But you did wake up, Cath," Sara was quick to remind Catherine. "You did leave him." They had gotten far, far away from the teasing and laughter. Too far. To remedy that, Sara added, "When I saw the two of you in the hallway at the lab, I was sure Eddie was taking a trip through the glass window of the break room. If he hadn't been so high, he would have screamed like a girl and run. You're scary when you're mad."

The ploy to rediscover humor worked only slightly. Catherine smiled for a second as she opened her door. "Oh, I wouldn't have tossed him through the window. Too much cleanup. If you hadn't shown up, I'm sure Gil would have wandered in to help."

Grissom? No way. Sara didn't laugh, though, because (despite that tiny smile) Catherine hadn't sounded as if she was joking. "Warrick and Nick would have given you a hand, I'm sure." Probably with more violence than the glass window would account for. Hopping out of the SUV, Sara wanted to derail the conversation. She had what she needed to understand, at least a little, Catherine's past. Unfortunately, there was one more question she had to ask. And Sara knew, with that query, she risked turning breakfast into a repeat of yesterday's booze fest. If you could buy anything stronger than orange juice at a pancake house.

***

When Sara fell silent, Catherine was relieved. She owed Sara a lot more of her life story. But not today. Or even this week. Meeting Sam hadn't been part of the plan, and she was still trying to find her footing. In fact, she mentally acknowledged as she trudged toward the restaurant, Sara might be the only one enjoying their breakfast. A sour taste burned the back of Catherine's throat, and if there had been more than coffee in her stomach, it might already have made a reappearance.

"What's next?" Sara interrupted Catherine's brief spate of brooding.

Hadn't she had enough? Catherine raised an eyebrow and gave Sara a disbelieving look. "You have a thing for family reunions? I could call Lily if you do." Not that she would. Not with the recent confrontation with Sam. "Or did you want me to schedule a sleepover with a bunch of Linds' friends?"

It was a cheap shot, and Catherine felt the roiling in her stomach increase immediately.

Sara, however, surprised Catherine again. She didn't turn and stalk away. Instead, she met Catherine's eyes. "How about next week? I'm still living out of a suitcase, and I'm sure I'd need some of my favorite pajamas to fit in." One hand reached past Catherine and gripped the door handle. "For now, can we concentrate on how you want to handle Gris and the Sam Situation?"

Catherine heard the capital letters in the final two words. "I told him no, Sar. You were there. What else is there to say or do?" Didn't Sara understand? There was no way Catherine was going to help him. If he kept pushing the issue, she'd simply go to the DA. Adding a tampering with evidence charge to the current mix wouldn't really tack on much prison time to what Sam could pull for killing a cop.

But it would make Catherine smile.

There was no response from Sara as they waited for the hostess to seat them and explain the special of the day. After she hurried off, though, Sara put down her menu and leaned across the table. "He's Sam Braun, Cath. You don't have to be a Vegas insider to know he made his reputation on more than solid business decisions. He won't give up, and I doubt his next 'plea' will be as friendly." Taking Catherine's hand, Sara continued intently. "We have to have a plan for when the gloves come off."


	48. Chapter 48

"You're serious." Catherine stared at the hand gently entwined with hers. "You really think Sam's going to push the issue? He won't," she reassured Sara. "He can't. We've got him by the short hairs if he tries anything."

Sara's fingers tightened. "Look, Cath, family's a funny thing. And I don't mean that in the 'mine was screwed up so yours has to be, too,' way. I think, in your head, Sam is the guy your mom loved. The guy who treated you like a daughter."

Catherine automatically protested. "Sam Braun is…"

"Sam Braun is a player, Cath," Sara interrupted. She leaned farther across the table and peered into Catherine's eyes. "You may hate him for what he did to you and Lily. But there is still a part of you that thinks of him as a father figure. It's understandable."

Reacting to the soft reassurance, Catherine relaxed slightly. Her feelings _were _understandable. Anyone could see how badly Sam had treated them. She completely ignored Sara's comment about Sam being like a father. Sara was way off base with that thought.

Voice still quiet, Sara continued intently. "Cath, you haven't spent time with him for years. He isn't an up and coming casino owner any more. He's Sam Braun, one of the most powerful men in Vegas, and he's facing a possible murder charge. That breakfast invitation wasn't a friendly gesture. It was all planned. You said it yourself. _Think_, Cath. The whole setup was supposed to impress and intimidate. You and me up in his private room with Vegas spread out below. Can you truthfully say that someone like Sam will give up after your first refusal?"

Sara had to be wrong. Catherine tugged her hand free, letting it drop into her lap. She could see Sam as he'd been in her childhood. Wide smiles and armfuls of gifts. He'd been generous with his time and money.

Then the picture altered. Sam's generosity had ended abruptly when Lily had refused to move closer to the casino. Closer to Sam. The visits had slowed. The gifts had disappeared.

Lost in the past, Catherine was only dimly aware of the waitress' return.

Sam had dangled the return of his full-time affections out for Lily like a carrot. Do what he wanted and he'd grant her every wish. Refuse him and he'd allow her to languish, alone, in the tiny house he'd bought for her.

"Damn it. I hate when you're right," Catherine muttered. She picked up her fork and brutally stabbed her scrambled eggs.

"No," Sara corrected with a smirk. "You hate it when _you're_ wrong. It's a thing with you." Pausing to take a drink of orange juice, she watched Catherine so closely that Catherine fought an urge to shift in discomfort. Was there something else bothering Sara? "But whatever's behind the thought, I'm glad you aren't blowing me off."

Taking a moment to taste breakfast, Catherine met Sara's intent eyes. "No, I'm _not_ blowing you off. I may not believe Sam will come after me with guns blazing; that doesn't mean I'm going to bury my head in the sand. You've got a point." Her right eyebrow shot up at Sara's triumphant smile. "Oh, put that away," she grumbled. "Makes me want to reach across the table and smack you."

"Go ahead. I dare you." Sticking her tongue out, Sara lounged back in the booth. "I'll be happy to file an assault report and escort you to anger management classes. Grissom would give me an award."

"I'm not that bad." When Sara laughed, Catherine dropped her head into her hands dramatically. "OK, maybe I am. _Sometimes_," she clarified. Admitting she had a problem was one thing. Calling herself a bitch was another. Catherine had to draw the line somewhere. "I don't want to waste too much time thinking about Sam, though, Sar. He's not taking over my life the way he did my mother's. We know he's out there; we're waiting for him. That should be enough."

Sara didn't look convinced; still, she let the matter drop. "Good enough." She fell silent and focused on her breakfast.

Enjoying the companionable quiet, Catherine ate slowly. The food was good, and the coffee was hot. With each sip, the lingering tension from their meeting with Sam drained away. "Thanks," she finally said. At Sara's questioning expression, Catherine elaborated. "For looking out for me. It's been a long time since someone did that."

***

Scowling, Sara glared at the pile of clothing in front of her. Whoever had killed the victim had made absolutely sure there was no chance for survival. The thin silk blouse was covered in blood stains and littered with tears and jagged-edged holes. Jeans that had once been blue had become rusty and stiff with yet more blood.

"You find anything?" Warrick's voice pulled Sara's attention away from the evidence.

"No." She stood and stretched, meeting his heavy-lidded eyes. "The blouse is too damaged and there's no way we're getting any ID on the weapon from the marks. I've got samples down at Trace, though. Maybe we'll get lucky and the perp cut himself. Lots of blood stains."

Warrick snorted and walked into the room. "Be sure you don't do that luck crap with Griss around. The last time I did that, I got an hour-long lecture on science versus luck. Almost made me transfer to days." His lips twitched. "Right up until I remembered Ecklie ran that shift."

The infamous Ecklie. Sara hadn't met him, but she felt as if she had, thanks to the comments from the rest of the team. "I'll remember that." Tilting her head at the table, she asked, "What about the rest of the house? I rode back with the body. Any other clues?" She hoped so. If not, they'd need a miracle to find the killer.

"The killer was a pro, Sara. Vacuumed the carpet. Scrubbed up in the bathroom and then bleached," Warrick answered. He sat down on a stool and rubbed his eyes. "Man, I'm tired. This is the third double this week, and I'm batting zero to top it off."

There was nothing Sara could say to that. She had ten open cases in her in-box, and more than a dozen cold cases Grissom had asked her to review. "I stopped counting the close rates a long time ago," she shared. "It got so bad in Frisco, I almost quit. Too many bodies and not nearly enough justice." Idly poking the blouse with a gloved hand, Sara continued. "All the technology we have now… It's not enough anymore. As fast as we improve our techniques, the perps find ways around them."

Like this perp.

Sara picked up the bloody shirt and dropped it into the paper evidence bag. "Let's go at this from a different angle." They had to. There was nothing useful here. "Help me put this away, and we can check in with Archie. He had the victim's computer on the table when I hit the break room earlier."

The walk down the hallway was quiet. Technicians moved between offices and labs in bursts of frenetic energy; however, no one else cluttered the hall. "Where's the rest of the team?" Sara glanced up at Warrick. It wasn't usual not to see Catherine or Nick striding along with bags of evidence or case files. "Did Gris give them the night off and not tell us?"

Warrick chuckled. "A night off?" Meeting Sara's eyes, he smiled. "How many doubles you got this week?"

Raising both hands in acknowledgement, Sara mumbled, "_This_ week? I haven't had a day off in almost a month. I threatened to put a cot in the break room after the fourth double. By the time Cath and I get home and read a story to Linds, we _might_ get three hours before shift starts up again." Her smile turned wry. "Or the pager goes off. You think I'd learn and not hope for a full shift off." She really should have listened to Catherine and taken the batteries out of her pager when they got home.

"Whoo! Listen to you, all Mama Sara. Will you read _me_ a bedtime story one night?" Warrick wiggled his eyebrows comically.

That earned him a smack to the stomach; although, Sara laughed…and then marveled at how little his teasing bothered her. Maybe it was all the time with Lindsey. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever the cause, Sara realized that being with Catherine's daughter hadn't caused a panic attack (not a full-blown one) in weeks.

When had that happened? Now that the thought was out there, Sara needed to pinpoint the changes…and the explanation behind them. Frowning, she poked at her memory. The story thing was new. Catherine had kept her word and not thrown Sara and Lindsey together. What had they done before that?

Movies. That was easy to remember. Movies and popcorn. Sara's frown lessened, tilting toward a smile. She could probably sing every song from every Disney movie by now.

"Sar? You still with me?" Warrick's question snapped Sara out of her thoughts.

Damn. They were in Archie's lab, the tech watching them curiously, and Sara had no memory of most of the walk. Scrambling to pull her attention back on the case, she answered more brusquely than necessary. "Right here. Where else would I be?" When Warrick's eyes widened at her tone, Sara sighed. "Sorry. I was…" She was what? Nothing she intended to talk about. Not bothering to finish her excuse, Sara turned to Archie. "'Rick and I are hoping you found something."

***

The phone at Catherine's elbow rang, and she absently picked it up. "Willows."

"Ms. Willows? This is Judy at the front desk. I've got a delivery for you." Background noise filled the line for a minute. "Do you want me to have someone bring it back?"

"No, thanks." A break sounded good. Catherine stood up and stretched. "I'll be there in a minute." Or two. Fresh coffee and a walk just _might_ get her head clear enough to put the evidence together. Hanging up, she grabbed her coffee mug, grimacing at the cold sludge at the bottom. Fresh coffee was a must. No way could she revive that, not even using the microwave.

Striding down the hallway, Catherine peered through the windows into the various labs. A few technicians waved or smiled, and Catherine returned the gestures. She'd been right. Getting out of the office helped. Her eyes still burned but things were back in focus. The headache that had dogged her for the past few hours faded. By the time Catherine reached the reception desk, she was ready to face the piles of evidence again. "What do you have for me?" she asked.

"These." Judy's expression was envious as she lifted up a massive bouquet of white and yellow roses from behind the desk. "You must have made a really good impression."

"Mmm," Catherine replied vaguely. She'd spent so much time at the lab lately there was no one she _could_ have impressed. Cradling the flowers in her arms, she searched for the card amidst the tissue paper surrounding the stems. Ah. There it was. She plucked the card from the holder.

_Muggs,_ _I'm sorry if I've upset you. I thought we were family, that's all. I didn't mean to impose. Please say you'll forgive me? Let's do lunch and talk._

The scent of the roses suddenly choked Catherine. "I think these were delivered by mistake, Judy." Stuffing the tiny card into her pocket, she offered the bouquet to the other woman. "Why don't you find a vase and put them out here on your desk? I'll call the florist in the morning and let them know." Right now, she had other plans. Waiting only long enough to make sure Judy had the flowers in hand, Catherine spun on her heel and stalked away from the desk. She needed to talk to Grissom. Now.

Her heels pounded out a staccato rhythm. Damn Sam. Sara had been right. He wasn't going to let this go. The flowers were such a familiar sight from his years with her mother. The first step in his efforts to manipulate her. Well, Catherine wasn't going to be manipulated. Sam would learn she was far stronger than Lily. That strength was apparent as Catherine shoved the door to Grissom's office open, sending it banging into the stopper on the wall behind it. "I need to talk to you!"

The faint strains of Billy the Big Mouthed Bass singing from his spot over the door were the only sounds in the office. Grissom stared at her with wide eyes and clutched the files in his hands tightly to his chest. "Ah, sure, Cath. Is there a problem?" Slowly placing the folders on his desk, Grissom leaned back in his chair as if to put as much room as possible between them.

"A big problem." Catherine made sure to close the door before dropping into a seat in front of the desk. How the hell was she going to explain this? Springing back to her feet, Catherine paced. "Sara and I were at the Rampart a few weeks ago, and we ran into an old friend of the family." An old friend… The words were such a pale description of the larger than life role Sam had once played in Catherine's life. Her anger wavered. What if she and Sara had been wrong? What if this _wasn't_ a ploy to get her help with Sam's case? It _had _been a while since their breakfast together. What if Sam really was sorry?

"Catherine?" Grissom's chair squeaked as he stood up. "What happened?"

It was decision time. Claim she'd made a mistake and leave. Or…Catherine pivoted and faced Grissom. "The friend I mentioned is Sam Braun." Watching Grissom's eyebrows raise would have been funny if Catherine hadn't been working so hard to convince herself she was doing the right thing. "He asked…" She could see her mother so clearly in Grissom's office. See Lily shake her head, warning her to stop. Unfortunately for the phantom Lily, Catherine forged on. "He asked me to take a look at the evidence in the bank case."


	49. Chapter 49

"Take a look?" Grissom immediately parroted. All of the absent-minded professor expression disappeared as he sat forward in his chair. "Take a look how?"

Catherine grimaced. "What do you think, Gil?" Squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden return of her headache, she mumbled, "He asked very politely that I keep him informed of any new developments or evidence." The darkness behind her eyelids was comforting; it helped block out the reality of her situation. Unfortunately, Catherine knew hiding wouldn't make things better. She reopened her eyes and peered tiredly at Grissom. "He didn't come out and ask me to touch anything. In fact, he was very clear on that. He wanted me to pass on information that he would get – eventually – from his lawyer, anyway."

This time, Grissom's response was longer in arriving. He reached up and removed his glasses, gently setting them on his desk. "Well…"

Yeah, well. It wasn't what Catherine wanted or needed. "I told him no, Gil," she announced sharply. "Just to get that out there." When Grissom avoided her gaze, Catherine took one step closer to the desk, bent at the waist, and planted both palms on top of the cluttered file folders. "I told him no and Sara and I walked out."

"OK." Grissom rolled his chair a few inches back from the desk. And from Catherine. "If that's the case, why didn't you go straight to the DA or the Sheriff? Why wait and then come here? This is a lab, Catherine. We handle the physical evidence."

Damn. He had a good point. Why _hadn't_ she reported Sam's request to the DA?

Phantom Lily reappeared, her sad face a reminder of Catherine's past.

"I didn't… I mean…" Faltering, Catherine slowly straightened. God, she had to get a grip. "I'm sorry, Gil. I didn't really think Sam was serious." Even after the conversation with Sara. "As far as I was concerned, it was over."

"What changed your mind?" Tilting his head, Grissom regarded Catherine intently. "Did Sam threaten you, Cath?"

Catherine shook her head and chuckled bitterly. "Worse," she said. "He sent me flowers." She'd lost Grissom completely. His mouth opened and closed silently a few times before Catherine took pity on him and continued. "It's what he did…does when he wants to woo you."

"Woo?" Now Grissom appeared truly alarmed. "Catherine, have you been seeing Sam Braun? He's been under investigation, by this lab, over a dozen times in the last few years. Do you know…?"

"For God's sake, Gil, shut up and let me finish!" Catherine spun away from the desk, crossing her arms to keep from swinging them in frustration. "For a man who brags about his love of all things scientific and logical, you are the worst at jumping to conclusions."

A stilted silence, broken only by the faint creak of Grissom's desk chair, filled the room.

Catherine waited another few seconds, testing Grissom's resolve and her own self control, before facing him again. "I didn't date Sam. My mother did, a long time ago. I haven't seen or spoken to him in years. Out of the blue, he finds me and Sara on a breakfast break and invites us up to his private room at the top of the Rampart."

She had Grissom's full attention. Wheeling closer to the desk, he picked up a pen and dug a legal pad from under the case files. "Tell me exactly what he said to you, Cath."

"I know what you're thinking, Gil." Too tense to sit, Catherine resumed pacing; although, at a much slower speed. "Sam's too smart to say anything incriminating. He was careful; I told you that. He simply said he was under investigation in the bank heist case." She paused long enough to smile grimly at Grissom. "Of course, he's innocent. A victim of a vengeful DA who's out to make a name for himself."

"Yes, of course," Grissom agreed wryly. "Aren't they all?"

Despite her earlier rage at Sam and his attempts at manipulation, Catherine bit back another impatient comment at Grissom's flippant remark – and then had to take a second to wonder why. Why did she still think Sam might be innocent? God, Sara had been right. Family really screwed things up. "I guess so," she finally uttered. "At this point, I don't think guilt is even relevant. I don't know the details in the case." Her hand shot up when Grissom started to talk again. "And I don't want to, Gil. If Sam keeps pushing, or he suddenly stops by the house for coffee, I don't want there to be even the smallest chance I'll give something away."

Grissom nodded. "Good idea." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Was breakfast the only time Sam approached you, Cath? You came in here on a mission; what else do we need to worry about?"

"Flowers." Catherine felt her cheeks heat at Grissom's disbelieving look. It sounded so pathetic when she said it out loud. She'd torn into the office because of a dozen roses. "Look, it's a thing with Sam," she continued in an attempt to make her fears sound logical. "When Sam doesn't get what he wants from you, he kicks off his campaign with flowers. I saw enough roses, carnations, and lilies when I was a kid to fill the first two floors of the Rampart."

Eyebrow cocked (but slowly lowering), Grissom pressed for more. "And if the flowers didn't convince you to change your mind?"

"That's when things got ugly." There. Catherine felt immensely better with that one sentence. _This_ was the crux of her fears. "Once the wooing stage fails, Sam moves on to bigger and better things. He has a gift for ferreting out your weakest points. Things that bother you that even _you_ didn't realize." A sudden, painful picture of Lily's face as she'd watched a press conference where Sam had been proclaiming his love and devotion for his wife and sons invaded Catherine's consciousness. "We both know I've got a lot of places for Sam to find ammunition."

"And you've got a lot of friends, Cath." Grissom held Catherine's eyes steadily. "This isn't much to go on; I still want you to file a report with the DA and the Sheriff, and I'll brief Ecklie on Sam's interest in the evidence."

Unexpected tears threatened. Catherine knew how little Grissom paid attention to office protocol. Even more, she was very familiar with his difficulties with Ecklie. "Thanks, Gil. I…" Her intended vow to file her reports before the end of her shift was cut off as her cell phone buzzed. Breaking off, she pulled the phone from her belt. "Willows."

"Hey, Cath. Looks like we caught a break," Nick announced on the other end of the line. "The perp left a couple of smudged prints on the door frame. I'm riding with Vega to pick up the suspect, Donald Morris. You want in?"

"I'll meet you in interrogation." Catherine's earlier exhaustion disappeared at the news. "I've got a few loose ends to tie up here; let me see if I've got more we can use to connect Morris to the scene." The phone closed with a sharp click.

Grissom had moved during her brief conversation. He stood at the corner of his desk, glasses once again perched on the bridge of his nose. "Nick?"

"ID'd a suspect." Catherine took a step away and then paused. "Thanks for the support, Gil," she said softly. "I appreciate it. After I charged in here, I realized maybe I had overreacted. It's good to know that I didn't – for once." She smiled wryly. "Don't tell Sara I said that, will you? She'd never let me live it down."

"You're secret's safe, Cath." Grissom pointed a finger at her. "Just don't forget to file your report on Sam Braun. Go finish with the evidence and meet Nick. But I want the documentation on Braun first thing in the morning."

It was the first time Catherine ever remembered Grissom actually sounding like a supervisor. If he hadn't looked so somber and serious, she might have laughed. Instead, she bowed before his authority. "You got it, Boss. Even if I have to work another double, I'll get it typed up."

"Sara, too. If she was there…"

Cutting Grissom off before he got too wound up, Catherine finished for him. "You'll need corroboration. I _am_ a professional, remember?" With a wave and a wink, she headed for the door.

***

Light peeked through the battered blinds in the locker room as Sara hung up her blue lab coat. "I'm sleeping for a week."

"Right," Warrick agreed. "You'll be back here by dinner time, hunting for whatever it is you think we missed." He slammed his own locker closed and dropped onto the long bench seat near Sara. "We all work crazy hours. You? I can't figure out why you live with Cath and not here. Put a cot in that lab you normally use; it'd save on gas."

"Catherine wouldn't let me." Deciding she was too tired to change out of her work clothes, Sara leaned one shoulder against the metal and regarded Warrick with a grin. "Come on, 'Rick. You've worked with her for years. Can you see her letting me bunk here, living out of the vending machines?"

He laughed. "Nah. That mom thing would kick in."

"More like kick _me_. June Cleaver, she's not." They shared a grin. "Come on." Sara pushed away from the locker and closed it. "I'll treat you to one last cup of Greg's finest. There are officially five minutes left on the clock; if we hide out in the break room, maybe Grissom won't find us."

"That's the first place he'll look." Warrick glanced at his watch. "Besides, Brown Time says shift is already over. You and your five minutes are full of it. I'm outta here. Me and Nick are hitting the diner for breakfast. You and Cath want to join us?"

"Uh…" Sara hesitated. She hadn't heard anything from Catherine all night. "I don't know. Probably not, though." They'd been working so many hours; Catherine usually wanted to get home to Lindsay whenever they could. "Rain check?"

Leering playfully, Warrick leaned in. "You got a better offer, don't you? Me and Nicky ain't good enough anymore. Who's the lucky guy?"

"You know, I think I _do_ have a better plan for the morning – only…she's a lucky girl," Sara answered. Lindsay seemed to enjoy it when Sara, and not Catherine, read the stories. Anything involving Olivia added to the fun.

"You dog! Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Warrick stood up and poked Sara's arm. "Next time I'm down at one of the clubs, I'll call you to come share the show. Nick won't go, and Greg? The kid's an animal."

Damn. Sara stared at Warrick, frozen in place. She hadn't meant her comment that way. Then she mentally shrugged. What was the problem? Catherine and Dave already knew the truth. It was time to stop hiding. "Here's a clue about lesbians, 'Rick. Putting us in a room with a hundred drunk, leering, and cheering men isn't the best use of your time – no matter how hot the women. I'd rather crawl through broken glass than spend an hour in a club on the Strip."

Warrick pouted. "Come on. Just once?" She swore his eyelashes fluttered when he peered up at her. "I'll pick the swankiest place in Vegas. No watered down beer or unwashed tourists, I promise."

"Nope." Sara didn't even bother to hide her amusement at Warrick's reaction. "I'm a one woman woman. And I'd better get going before she thinks I'm stepping out on her."


	50. Chapter 50

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that happening." Sara grinned at Warrick's mocking tone. "Never thought I'd see the day you backed down from a fight."

Punching him lightly in the shoulder, Sara led the way out of the locker room. "She's so worth it." Despite the occasional panic attacks, she'd started to enjoy – even look forward to – Lindsay's body snuggled up to her side as they peered at a book and the shy hugs she got just before Lindsay fell asleep.

Sara almost missed Warrick's wide-eyed look.

"What? I'm just saying…" Sara might have continued if a new voice hadn't interrupted.

"You need to stop saying, Sar." Catherine strode up to them from another corridor. "Whatever you were talking about seems to have broken Warrick. In fact," she pointed at Sara's silent companion, "I'm wondering if you used more than words. You still in there, 'Rick?" Catherine playfully waved her hand in front of Warrick's eyes. "Hello?"

Her actions broke the spell. Warrick shook his head and then glanced back and forth between the two women. "You two… Man." He backed away, still appearing off-kilter. "I gotta go." One hand raised in a half-hearted wave before Warrick turned and hurried down the hall.

"That was weird," Catherine commented quietly. "What the hell were you two talking about?"

"Lindsay." Sara chose not to mention her unplanned "outing." "I told 'Rick we wanted a rain check on breakfast so you could get home to Linds." When Catherine frowned, Sara winced. Damn. She should have asked Catherine before making a decision for them both. "Um, did I make a mistake? I'm sure we could still meet the guys at the diner."

Sara was braced for a cutting comment; she didn't get one. Instead, Catherine sighed tiredly. "No. I don't have time for breakfast this morning. Gil's got me working on a report to the Sheriff." Her face grew grim, and she looked away from Sara.

Something was wrong. Sara tensed, examining Catherine closely. "Cath?" Her mind raced. What cases was Catherine working? Had something happened? Misplaced evidence? Something political enough that the Sheriff wanted extra information?

Before Sara found an answer, Catherine provided one. In a way. "Look, I don't want to talk here." She reached out and gently gripped Sara's arm. "Come on. We'll do breakfast on our own and I can fill you in."

Wait. Hadn't Catherine just said there wasn't time for breakfast? Sara followed Catherine in confusion.

"There's a place that delivers. Just bagels and muffins, but I promise to make it up to you." Catherine's office was up ahead, dim light illuminating the gap under the door. Her expression was a mix of self-mocking humor and irritation as she gestured for Sara to precede her into the office. "It's been awhile since I called for breakfast; I don't think I have a menu anymore. Trust me, though. The cinnamon-raisin bagels are a winner."

"Sure." Taking a seat in front of Catherine's organized desk, Sara watched Catherine closely. Something was definitely bothering her. What? They hadn't worked a case together in weeks so it couldn't be an evidence problem. The lab hadn't been flooded with any new rumors. "Have you heard from Nancy?" She sat forward in the chair. That had to be it. Only Lindsay could make Catherine this edgy.

Unfortunately, Catherine had already picked up the phone. She shook her head and mouthed, "No," as she quietly placed an order for bagels, muffins, and coffee. "Have _you_ heard from Nance?" Catherine asked as she hung up. "I left a message for her a few hours ago, letting her know we'd be late today. Why?"

Damn. Sara frowned and avoided explaining her question. "Why are we still working?" She'd stop guessing and let Catherine assuage her curiosity – and concern.

"Sam." The word hung in the air for a second.

"What did he do?" Sara's mild worry hit full bloom in a heartbeat. "Have you talked to Grissom? And the Sheriff?"

Eyebrows reaching for her hairline, Catherine waved a hand. "Sar? You want to give me a chance to finish? Or should I let you panic first?"

A blush burned Sara's cheeks. "Talk, Cath." Fast. Damn it. She'd warned Catherine about Sam Braun. Why hadn't she listened? Sam was dangerous. What if he'd gotten tired of waiting for Catherine to change her mind?

"I went to Gil earlier, Sara." Catherine rubbed her forehead. "I should have gone sooner," she admitted with a sigh, spiking the anxiety already rattling Sara. "I'm sorry for not taking your advice or Sam's pig-headedness more seriously."

Sara didn't even _think_ about rubbing that in. Instead, she stood up and walked around the desk. "You OK?" Her hands settled on Catherine's tense shoulders, kneading gently. "What did he… What happened?"

Catherine's chuckle was a surprise. "Would you believe he sent flowers?"

What felt like hours later, Sara pushed away from Catherine's computer. Her eyes felt as if she'd removed them, dunked them in sand, and replaced them in her head.

But the report was finished.

Sara resisted the temptation to proofread the document one more time. She'd done that three times already. The only thing left to do was email it off. Tired fingers fumbling on the keys, Sara typed Grissom's, the Sheriff's, and the District Attorney's addresses into Outlook. Catherine's went into the blind copy field. One more click… Done.

Standing up carefully, Sara stretched. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," she called out – and then chuckled. Catherine hadn't woken up, merely mumbled and rolled over. "I'm going to take Linds down to the Bellagio. There was a flyer for new dancers. I think the kid's a shoe-in."

"'kay." Catherine sighed once before her soft snores resumed.

It was too bad Sara didn't have a video camera. This was perfect blackmail material – not to mention the cash she would rake in if Nick and Warrick learned the footage existed. "Cath," Sara said a little more loudly as she dropped to her knees next to the couch. "It's time to go home. You need to sleep in a bed." Reaching out, she placed her right hand on Catherine's shoulder.

"Cath. Come on, Cath." The annoying voice wouldn't go away, and it was now accompanied by a hand rocking her shoulder.

Prying one eye open, Catherine looked for the source of her irritation. Whoever was interrupting her sleep was going to discover what a very bad idea that was. "Somebody better be dead," she snarled and rolled toward the voice.

A pair of amused eyes stared at Catherine from mere inches away. "In our line of work, that wouldn't be unusual." Sara winked and sat back on her heels. "But you're safe today. No bodies, no Grissom, and no more overtime. Only me and Linds and a real bed. Get up; I'll drive us home."

Home. Bed. Those two words were enough to lure Catherine from her anger. "That's an offer I can't refuse." She struggled to sit up, finally grasping the hand Sara held out. "Are there any other benefits to this trip?" A quick glance at the clock verified that it was nearly noon. "Lunch?" Waiting until a wave of mild dizziness passed, Catherine teased, "Or a bedtime story. Linds swears by those."

"Nope. I save those for my best girl." Sara's grin took the sting out of that verbal slam as she stood, too. "You'll just have to settle for lunch – and being second best."

Catherine dramatically placed a hand over her heart. "I'm hurt, Sar. I can't believe you feel that way. I mean, I'm the one you spend your nights with." She flounced away (mostly to hide her amusement) and flung open her office door. "If you think I'm going to overlook your other girlfriend, you don't know me very well."

"Don't be that way, Cath." Sara's voice trembled with her own laughter. "My nights are yours. That leaves me twelve hours for someone else, though." She appeared at Catherine's elbow as they headed for the parking lot. "I never pegged you for the jealous type."

"Really?" This time, Catherine couldn't hold back a snort. "Please. Now you sound like Eddie." Doing a creditable imitation of her ex-husband, she continued. "Now, Cath. It isn't like that. Bambi doesn't mean anything to me. I love you. She's only a…bit of fun." For once, thoughts of Eddie and his many indiscretions didn't bother Catherine. She was too busy watching Sara blush and attempt a glare.

The glare never truly materialized. "I'll have to watch myself then. If you're going to demand fidelity, I'll have to be more careful when I sneak out."

"Or stop sneaking out," Catherine said, poking Sara in the arm. "That would be the best choice. We've had _this_ conversation before, I think. I work in a crime lab. Push me too far, and I'll show you how much I've learned from all the perps we've investigated."

Sara's hands waved at her. "Fine. Geeze, put the threats away, Cath. It's early. Or late." Catherine smirked as Sara stumbled over the time. "And I'm being nice, remember? Lunch and bedtime."

"I'll put them away for now." Not forever, though. Catherine enjoyed their playful banter too much for that. She held open the door and let Sara stride outside first. "Where are you taking me? Those bagels were good, but I'm starving."

"Me, too." Sara unlocked the Tahoe and climbed behind the wheel, hissing at the heat. "What's more important, though? Food or sleep? There are dozens of fast food places on the drive home. If you want something different, we'll have to plan ahead. Leaving the office during the traditional lunch hour complicates things."

Damn. Catherine bit her lip and scanned the parking lot as she tried to decide. Sitting down for a leisurely meal and less grease had appeal. So did sleep. The bruises under Sara's eyes helped her decide. "McDonald's, I guess. I'll let you tell Lindsay we stopped there without her."

"Thanks," Sara responded wryly. McDonald's was Lindsay's favorite restaurant. "You're so good to me." The SUV moved smoothly out of the parking space and hesitated as she shifted gears.

"Obviously not." Catherine couldn't resist one last dig. "Or you wouldn't be sampling the other princesses in the kingdom." Turning on the Tahoe's stereo drowned out Sara's reply, and Catherine relaxed back in the seat, idly watching another car follow them out of the lot.

.


	51. Chapter 51

Even the McDonald's was crowded. Catherine eyed the line of cars circling the building and thought longingly of her bed. This had been a bad idea. Unfortunately, the continued rumbling in her stomach meant changing her mind about lunch was out.

"You think the Sheriff will do anything once he reads the reports?" Sara asked as she used the Tahoe's size to force her way into the drive thru line.

Catherine looked at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? He's been after Sam for years. Remember that conversation on career-building cases? I bet the DA adds attempted tampering with evidence and bribery of a public official to the charges before tonight." And maybe Sam would finally understand that she wasn't going to give in to his intimidation like Lily.

The car grew silent for a few minutes. Sara appeared to study the McDonald's menu as they waited to order.

To Catherine, it was a clear indication the other woman was worried about something. Thanks to Lindsay, they were at this restaurant (or one like it) at least three times a week. Sara should be able to recite the entire breakfast _and_ lunch menu from memory. "Sar?"

"I don't…" Slumping over the wheel, Sara rubbed at her eyes. "Damn it, Cath, I know I pushed you to take the information to Grissom. Now that you have, though, I wonder. How is Sam going to respond when he realizes you and I were the ones who turned him in?"

Leaving Catherine to grapple with that question, Sara moved the Tahoe forward another few feet and began to speak with the disembodied voice of their waitress.

How would Sam respond? That was no secret. Sara had pegged his reaction the day they'd met at the Bellagio. He expected immediate results, results that fit perfectly with his master plan. Catherine had already disappointed him. Not only had she turned him down in person, she had no intention of being wooed by a bouquet of flowers. Turning Sam in to the Sheriff was one more black mark in Sam's book. It was war.

"You still with me?" Catherine jumped at Sara's question. "Cath?" One of Sara's hands left the steering wheel and lightly touched Catherine's knee.

"Sorry." Covering Sara's hand with her own, Catherine grimaced. "I was just thinking about your question." One of Sara's eyebrows quirked. "Sam's response," she clarified as they approached the last of the drive thru windows. "We don't have to hire bodyguards, if that's what you were worried about. He isn't like that." Then Catherine reconsidered. "Well, if we had tried to cheat at one of his tables, I'm sure there would be fists and pain involved. We're in a different category."

Sara gave her a long look. "Why don't I feel reassured?"

"Because you have a brain." The words were dry – and still serious. "We're in a special Hell as far as Sam's concerned. Think mind games and hidden danger. And pain. That's a given." Lily had been through years of that as she languished alone, living in the house Sam had bought her and surrounded by the mementos of his "love." "He's creative and ruthless."

Their conversation paused again as Sara accepted the bag of food and their drinks from a thin kid in a bright red baseball hat. When they pulled back into traffic, it was clear Sara was still thinking about their problem as she chewed on her lip and scowled at the cars in front of them.

"Sar, there's nothing else we can do," Catherine warned. "We've done everything possible. I talked to Gil; we filed those reports; and I'll let Nance know to be on the lookout." That would be a fun phone call. Nancy hated Sam even more than she did. Determined to change the subject and stop thinking of Sam, Catherine made sure her next question had nothing to do with their current situation. "Did you call the storage place today?"

They weren't through talking about Sam. Sara ground her teeth and promised herself they'd come back to the topic. "Yeah; they're threatening to auction my stuff if I don't come pick it up by the end of the month." When did she have time for that? The moving company had suggested this particular storage facility. Too bad they hadn't told her it was only for storing shipments temporarily. Of course, she acknowledged grudgingly, it _had_ been nearly two months since they'd called the first time.

"You know, Gil will give you a day off if you tell him." Catherine reached across the console and jabbed a finger into Sara's side. "The lab can survive without you for twenty-four hours."

That wasn't the problem; although, Sara didn't say that. "Mmm." The real issue was Sara, herself. Moving in with Catherine had been a stopgap measure. A place to stay until her clothes and journals arrived from San Francisco. Unfortunately, she was comfortable with the way things were now. If she got the rest of her things, that would change.

Catherine proved (yet again) how hard it was to hide information from a trained investigator. "What's wrong?"

Biting back a curse, Sara shrugged. "Nothing." She grimaced when Catherine turned in her seat and raised an imperious eyebrow. "Really, Cath; it's nothing," she insisted. It was just something she'd have to get over. "I'll call them first thing tomorrow, I promise."

"And Gil?" Tilting her head, Catherine regarded Sara so intently that she squirmed in her seat.

"And I'll let Gil know I need a day off." The words came out in a sulky mumble. Sara dug into the bag of food, looking for a way to hold off more of Catherine's questions.

Apparently, Catherine recognized the delaying tactic. She gently took the bag out of Sara's hands and held it on her lap. "We can eat when we get home. Even fast food is better if you take it out of the paper wrappers and put it on a plate." Meeting Sara's disgruntled glare with a cheery smile, Catherine continued. "Besides, I'm sure it all needs to be warmed up."

Sara didn't have a response for that. Turning back to the road, she gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Maybe if she'd been paying attention, Catherine's next question wouldn't have shocked her so much. "Sara? What aren't you telling me? Do you… do you want to move out?"

"What?" The Tahoe jerked to the right as Sara's body spun in Catherine's direction. Horns blared around them for a second until Sara managed to reorient the SUV – and herself. Heart pounding, she demanded, "Why would you think that?"

"Because you get weird every time we talk about getting the last of your things moved into the house." It sounded so logical when Catherine said it. So logical, in fact, that it was clear she thought Sara was a head case.

Catherine might be right. With a sigh, Sara decided it was time for a little truth. "It's not that, Cath. Not at all. In fact, just the opposite." Traffic cleared ahead of them, and Sara paused to take advantage of the extra space. They'd be home soon, thankfully. Home. She glanced at Catherine and tried to explain her feelings. "I love living with you and Linds."

"Then what's going on?" Catherine was never content with the basics.

"I…" Sara hunted for words. "I guess I thought you'd want me to move now. I mean, I have a lot of crap in boxes. Journals, books, clothes. If I bring them home…" Damn it. Sara floundered. She hadn't wanted to let Catherine know that's how she thought of the house. "If I bring them to your place," she corrected quickly, "I'm going to have to spread out to more than the one room."

Laughter filled the Tahoe. "Really? You've been acting like a lunatic for weeks because you need an extra bookcase or two?"

When Catherine put it like that, Sara's cheeks burned. "Uh, yeah." Her lips twitched reluctantly as the laughter started up again. "OK. I'm an idiot. I admit it." Sara chuckled when Catherine nodded in agreement with her statement.

"Admitting you have a problem is the first step," Catherine advised with mock solemnity.

"Then I'm good to go. What's next? Twelve steps?" Sara turned onto West Lone Mountain, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel the closer they got to home. "I'm really bad at sticking with long and involved programs."

The house came into view as Catherine snorted. "Well, I'll have to find a way to keep you focused on the goal then. I'd hate it if you checked yourself out before you were a hundred percent."

"Great." Pulling into the drive, Sara put the Tahoe into park and turned off the engine. "Rewards for good behavior might work. Think you have what it takes to motivate me?" she asked in the sudden silence – and then shoved open the door darted for the front of the house. If she could make it inside…

Unlocking the door proved to be Sara's downfall. As she jammed the key into the lock, Catherine strolled up. "Honey, I'm sure I can find a way to keep you focused." Her smile was sensuous, and she pressed into Sara's back.

Sara was suddenly focused, alright. It wasn't on maintaining emotional stability, however. The only thing she could see, smell, or hear was Catherine. Her hand fell away from the key. "Cath." Dear God. Nearly shuddering from a completely inappropriate surge of desire, Sara swallowed audibly.

"I never said what you'd be focusing on…" Not moving an inch, Catherine reached around Sara, hand wrapping around Sara's and the key still hanging from the lock.

The normal light and heat of the Las Vegas day was eclipsed by the volcano coming to life inside Sara. Sweat drenched her clothes and trickled down the small of her back. "Cath," she managed to choke out a second time. Silently cursing, Sara knew she had to pull herself together. This was simply a continuation of their playful teasing. Catherine wasn't serious, no matter how much Sara (and her body) wished she was. "Open the door. Cold Big Macs taste vile." The tone was too breathless and shaky, but Sara felt proud of herself anyway.

The key turned, the door opened, and Catherine's hand slipped away. "Like I've said before, Sara, you think with your stomach." The suggestive edge was missing from the comment, and Catherine steered them into the house as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

"And I'm not denying it," Sara answered. Grabbing the bag from Catherine, she deliberately picked up her pace. She needed some room, a chance to regain her tattered composure and forget the feel of Catherine pressed against her. "If you aren't careful, I'll eat my lunch _and_ yours. It would serve you right." A raspberry blew behind her. "Please, Cath. You're too old for that. Hell, Linds is too old." That didn't keep her from chuckling as they finally entered the kitchen.

"You're never too old," Catherine disagreed. "Age is a mental state."

Sara glanced over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "Really? Is it listed in the DSM-IV? I don't remember seeing it."

Catherine stuck her tongue out.

"I'll have to look it up tonight. I can definitely see how that 'state' is affecting you. You've shed _years_ in only a few minutes. What are you? Four? Five?" Grinning at the narrowed-eyed glare she received, Sara put the bag of food on the table and strode to the refrigerator. "Be careful or I'll give you Kool-Aid."

The teasing disappeared once they started eating, replaced by aborted yawns and silence. Sara munched on lukewarm fries and stared mindlessly at the grease collecting on the waxed-paper wrapping of her burger.

"You asleep over there?" Catherine interrupted softly.

It took a second for Sara to formulate an answer. Her brain felt fuzzy. "Fine." The reply was garbled by another yawn. "We stopped moving and I suddenly remembered how long it's been since I got any sleep." In fact, reaching for the rest of her lunch seemed almost too much work. She forced herself, though. Long hours meant poor eating habits. Burgers and fries didn't rank high on Lindsey's food pyramid, but they were better than the candy bars and day-old coffee Sara had been living on.

"Amen." Mimicking Sara's yawn, Catherine tossed the remains of her fish sandwich onto the table. "I could sleep for a week. I'll settle for a few hours." She reached down to her belt. "Your pager…"

"Will go into the drawer, minus the batteries," Sara answered without making Catherine finish the question. By this time, it was second nature to make sure Grissom couldn't summon her on a whim. She took one last bite of her sandwich and levered herself upright. "I'll get the trash."

Catherine stood, too. "I've got lights and locks."

With the ease of familiarity, they completed their self-assigned tasks. Sara met Catherine at the bottom of the stairs. "Good night, Cath," she said, enjoying the relaxed, sleepy smile she received in return. "Don't let the Lindsey-bug bite."

"I'm too tired to care." Catherine put one foot on the lowest step and paused. "Sleep tight, Sar." She lightly brushed a hand over Sara's cheek before turning away.


	52. Chapter 52

Sara stared after Catherine's retreating form. What had that been about? Her tired and sluggish mind grappled with the question until Catherine disappeared at the top of the stairs. Then, with the object of her mental quandary out of sight, Sara gave up. Figuring things out would have to wait until later. Much later.

Turning away, she stumbled disjointedly to her bedroom and stripped down to boxers and T right inside the door. The bed called to her. Barely remembering to close the door, Sara collapsed onto the mattress without bothering to pull back the comforter. God, she was tired. There had been too many cases. Too much overtime.

Overtime.

Sara was off the bed as if catapulted. If she wanted to avoid more work, she had to dismantle her pager. Of course, her jeans had fallen underneath the rest of her clothes. Sara dug through the pile impatiently. By the time she located the pager, still clipped to the belt of her pants, Sara was cursing. Damned Grissom. If he didn't always have an "intriguing" case, she could be asleep and not struggling to pop off the lid to the battery compartment.

Five minutes and a lot of sweating later, Sara ripped the pager off the belt and tossed it (along with the loose batteries) in the nightstand drawer.

Now she could go to bed. Sara paused long enough to yank the comforter to the foot of the bed. The sheets felt cool and crisp, and her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. She wasn't getting up until much later. Then she'd call the storage place. As soon…as she…got up.

A shaft of sunlight landed on Sara's face. The warmth, teamed with the blinding light, earned a disgruntled mumble as she rolled over and pulled the pillow over her eyes. That was better. It wasn't time to get up. The alarm hadn't gone off.

That's when she heard it. The whisper. "We should go, Mommy. Sara's still sleeping."

No, Sara wasn't. Sara was merely _attempting_ to sleep. Evil sunlight and evil housemates made real sleep impossible. Slowly and grudgingly, she lowered the pillow and peered toward the door.

Two pairs of eyes peered back. "Busted," Catherine announced in a normal tone of voice. "Guess we made too much noise, Linds." She didn't sound particularly upset by that.

"Is there a reason my bedroom is Grand Central Station?" Sara stayed huddled in bed. She was only getting up if there was a damned good reason – and murder and mayhem didn't count. "Is it snowing on the Strip?"

"No, silly." Lindsey was a miniature Catherine, hands planted on hips and eyes rolling in disbelief. "This is Las Vegas. It only snows in the mountains, not on the Strip! You need to get up. We're having an Adventure Day." The capital letters were obvious. "But Mom said we can't leave until you're ready."

Well, it wasn't the world-altering event Sara had had in mind. She got out of bed anyway. Catherine was scary when she got upset; Lindsey was far worse. It was too early in the… Sara checked the clock…afternoon to pick a fight with the budding diva in the doorway. "What's an Adventure Day?" she asked as she shuffled to the closet for clean clothes.

Sara could hear the "Duh!" when Lindsey answered. "Mommy lets me pick something to do and we go. An adventure. Sometimes we go to the park or the zoo or a ball game. This time, I didn't have to invite Jeremy; it's just us girls."

"Ah, that's good." And it was. So very good. Sara had learned to (mostly) handle Lindsey. She only had to hide in bathrooms or other private places once in a while. Add in another child, especially one with as much energy as Jeremy… "Where are we going? Did you pick something _really_ special?"

"Yes." Bouncing in place and smiling so widely that Sara could see most of her teeth, Lindsey announced, "The Lied so we can play with all the experiments and stuff."

Hands full of clothes, Sara gaped at Lindsey. "Really? You like science?" Why didn't she know this? Catherine had never said anything. Glancing in that direction, she caught the tail end of Catherine's grimace. What was that about?

"It doesn't matter if I like science, Sara." Lindsey skipped forward and hugged Sara, clothes and all. "_You_ like it and this is our first Adventure Day together. I wanted to do something you liked."

Sometimes, Catherine wondered what she and Eddie had been thinking when they decided to have a child. Sometimes, Catherine worried that Lindsey might follow in her footsteps – or worse, Eddie's. And sometimes, like today, she _knew_ she had the best daughter in the world. Throat closed by incipient tears, Catherine watched Lindsey hug Sara tightly.

Sara. Lindsey. Hug.

Shit. Pride disappearing under a wave of concern, Catherine took a single step forward and then stopped. Sara's clothes fell to the floor with a quiet thump at the same time that she gingerly returned the embrace. From across the room, Catherine saw how pale Sara was. Saw the way Sara bit her lip. She never backed away, however. In fact, a smile tilted her trembling lips.

Catherine's pride returned twofold. Not only was Lindsey a great kid, but Sara was facing, and beating, her fears. "Hey, you two," Catherine said, deliberately interrupting to help Sara maintain control, "if we don't get going, all the good exhibits will be crowded."

"We wouldn't want that." Sara squeezed Lindsey tightly before stepping back. Her voice was husky and uneven as she continued. "I don't want to miss something because we took too long to get ready. Give me a few minutes to take a shower?"

"Mommy and I will wait in the living room, OK?" Lindsey hadn't seemed to notice anything wrong with Sara's actions or response. Still smiling, she ran from the room, leaving Catherine and Sara alone.

They regarded each other uneasily for a minute. Catherine shifted from foot to foot. Should she say something? And if so, what? Sure, they occasionally talked about Sara's phobia of children. Did that mean Sara _wanted_ Catherine to take an active part in her recovery? "Sar…"

"Cath," Sara said at the same moment.

"You go ahead." Catherine was relieved the decision to ask if Sara was all right was out of her hands. "I can wait."

Sara bent to pick up her clothes. "Does Lindsey really want to go to the Lied?" The question wasn't one Catherine had expected. "I mean, it's sweet and everything, but this is her day. Adventure Day," she said with a chuckle. "Never done one of those before. Except for college, and that normally involved mass quantities of alcohol."

Slowly relaxing, Catherine shrugged. "Hey, it's better than putting her in front of the TV with a Nintendo. She only does the couch potato routine if movies are involved – and I'd like to keep it that way." Sara had all of her things again so Catherine stepped backward into the hall. "I'll be with Linds. You've got ten minutes and then we're leaving."

Catherine had to flatten herself against the wall as Sara trotted by. "Ten minutes? I'll be done in five. No way am I missing this. Lied Discovery Children's Museum here I come." She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

"O-K," Catherine mumbled to herself, staring after Sara. "I may have two kids with me on this trip. I wonder if I can get a discount on fares…Or some valium." Her lips twitched. This could be interesting. Very, very interesting. Feeling better about the day, she walked into the living room to find Lindsey digging frantically through her backpack. "Hey, kiddo, did you lose something?"

"No, Mom, I just left something in here so Sara didn't see it." Seconds later, she fished a piece of brightly colored paper out of the bag and held it triumphantly aloft. "I asked Mr. Taylor about the museum yesterday, and he let me print this off the internet. Do you think Sara would want one?"

Taking the crumpled paper, Catherine scanned the information. "Oh, honey." Her voice failed and she gave up talking. Hugging was better. She squeezed Lindsey tightly and blinked back tears. "Sara would love one," she said. "I bet she'd love her specially-designed lab coat so much she's wear it to work. Nick and Warrick would be jealous. Did you want me to distract her today while you make it? Or are you two going to the workshop together?"

"All _three_ of us, Mommy. We can have matching coats." Lindsey wiggled free and dropped onto the couch. "Then you and Sara can wear yours to work. I bet even Uncle Gil will notice, huh?"

Catherine laughed. "I'm sure, honey. Especially if it's like the one in the picture. All those bright orange bugs and spiders? Your Uncle Gil would go crazy. You know we call him the Bug Man, honey." The real fun, though, would be his expression if Sara went with the _other_ coat in the flyer. The one with the rainbows and smiley faces.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Catherine hurriedly stuffed the flyer in her front pocket.

"Ready to go, ladies. Are we hitting your favorite Mickey D's on the way, Linds, or is there a special menu for Adventure Days?" Sara was smiling and more relaxed than Catherine had ever seen her. "My treat – and I won't take no for an answer," she warned, probably spotting Lindsey about to protest.

"Well, if Sara's treating, honey," Catherine said as she walked toward the front door, "pick something expensive. How do you feel about the Hofbräuhaus?"

Gagging sounds started up immediately "Yuck! I remember when you took me there, Mommy. It was terrible. I couldn't even say half the things on the menu. I don't think they were in English!" Lindsey scowled. "We're going to McDonald's. I like it, and it's fast. Sara said she didn't want to miss the good stuff. If we so somewhere _you_ like, we won't get to the museum until after it closes." Stomping her feet, she stalked out the door.

"I guess she told you, huh, Cath?" Sara chuckled.

It was Catherine's turn to do some stomping. "No respect. I get no respect." Of course, she was grinning as she complained. "Now come on. I don't trust Lindsey not to try leaving us here. The kid's impatient, just like her father."

Sara's cough sounded very much like a smothered snort.

"You have something you want to say?" Catherine dared as they left the house. She scanned the driveway automatically, noting Lindsey leaning against the Tahoe.

"Nope. Not a thing. Must be a cold or something. I've felt a little congested lately." Sara bared her teeth in a patently fake smile. "I'll be fine. A Diet Coke and a Big Mac will help, I'm sure. Fat and grease cure anything."

Catherine didn't have a response for that. At least, not one that her daughter should overhear. "Get in the car, Sara. Just get in." Today was either going to be the best time of her life…Or she'd be crazy by dinnertime. Humming under her breath, Catherine climbed behind the wheel and started the SUV.


	53. Chapter 53

"My feet are killing me." Sara propped them on the dash of the Tahoe and rubbed at her calves. "I've climbed in and out of dumpsters and catalogued entire boxes of crime scene photos and not been this tired."

Catherine was sure the comments weren't complaints; Sara was smiling even as she continued the calf massage. "Maybe you shouldn't have run up and down the stairs," she said, not bothering to hide the mockery in her voice. "Or played that last game of wheelchair basketball."

"Nah. That had nothing to do with it." Smile widening, Sara winked. "It was all that waiting in line at the ticket counter. Who knew so many people liked science?" For just a second, Catherine saw Sara's smile falter, her eyes darken. "Grissom might be wrong about the state of education in America."

Maybe. But Catherine wasn't wrong in blaming Sara's momentary struggle on her earlier reaction to the incredible press of kids and parents in the ticketing line. "It will do Grissom good to be wrong," she finally said softly. A quick glance verified Lindsey was asleep in the back seat. "It does me good, too, Sara." Even if it wasn't particularly enjoyable.

Sara's feet came off the dash. "Cath?" She reached across the console and touched Catherine's arm.

"I told Linds we shouldn't invite you today." When the hand on her arm dropped away, Catherine took her eyes off the road long enough to glance across the SUV at Sara's suddenly defensive posture. "It isn't what you think," she managed softly. "I was afraid…all those kids, Sara. In line. At the exhibits. Running around. I didn't want to make things worse for you."

Sara was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that her first thought had been that Catherine hadn't wanted to share her time with Lindsey. She was even more ashamed when Catherine explained the real reason behind her reluctance. "Oh." No one had ever cared before.

Of course, no one – other than her shrinks – had ever _known_ before.

"I didn't think about that." Sara shook her head with a wry smile and lifted her feet back to the dash. Her relaxation might be gone, but she wanted to show Catherine they were on safe ground again. "Not until we walked in the door, anyway." When the world got crazy and breathing normally had become a problem. "Maybe the one psychologist was right. I needed to get over myself and just do it. Spend time with kids."

"Hardly." Catherine's hands were still tight on the wheel. She definitely hadn't relaxed. "I'm sorry, Sara. I should have talked to you before Lindsey made her choice for the Adventure Day. We sandbagged you."

"A little," Sara said. "If you'd talked to me, though, I wouldn't have gone. I would have thought about the trip and all those kids and I would have figured I couldn't take it. I _did_ take it, Cath." Amazingly well, in fact. Marveling at that, Sara blindly stared out the window at the passing buildings and cars. "I don't know how or why. I don't even care. I did it – because of you and Lindsey." The view outside the Tahoe lost its appeal. Sara looked at the plastic bag in her hands; at the white, paint-decorated lab coat inside.

Tears rushed in to blur the bright pink bug prominently on display.

"I don't know how to thank you, Cath," Sara said in a choked voice.

"You don't have to." Returning her earlier gesture, Catherine bridged the console and gripped Sara's hand. "We didn't do it for thanks, Sar. We did it because you're family. Lindsey loves you, you know. You're way cooler than me. Moms are such terrible people. You, though, are her favorite aunt."

A tear well over and spilled onto Sara's cheek. "I love her, too." The words tore at Sara's throat, threatening to choke her. It had been years since she'd said them, since she'd felt anything resembling love. And now… Dear God. Now.

Now everything had changed. The tears dried up as Sara stared at the fingers entwined with her own. Heart pounding painfully, Sara realized it wasn't only Lindsey she loved. She loved her new, chosen family.

She loved Catherine.

Sara watched her thumb raise and stroke a random pattern on the back of Catherine's hand. She loved Catherine. Not simply as a friend. Not as a sister. As a woman.

The late afternoon sun brightened into a shining beacon, spilling into the Tahoe and blinding Sara. She blinked dazedly as tiny black dots floated between her and the windshield until Catherine lifted their linked hands and shook them slightly.

"Sara? What's wrong?" Catherine was worried again; Sara recognized the emotion in her voice by now.

She had to get a grip on things. Catherine was straight. She was a friend. A co-worker. The litany of reasons Sara had to control her heart ran through her mind on an endless loop. "Nothing," she said as firmly as possible. "I'm fine." It was a lie. Sara wasn't fine. She was balanced on the edge of a bottomless pit. Happiness tainted with a single stabbing pain stood behind her.

Below waited a dark wasteland and the jagged edges of agony if Catherine ever learned her secret.

It was a powerful motivation. Sara closed her eyes and fought to close off her heart. She couldn't…didn't love Catherine. Catherine was her friend. Repeating that over and over, Sara stepped away from the precipice. The pain intensified; it was bearable, though. Catherine was still there, holding Sara's hand. "You want to hit McDonald's again?" she asked. "Or have you reached your limit on burgers and fries for one day?"

"One day? I think I've seen enough Golden Arches for a lifetime." Catherine's fingers slipped away as she placed her hand back on the wheel. "I prefer home-cooked this time. Can you and your stomach hold out for enchiladas and Spanish rice?"

"You might have to ignore some grumbling from the beast that is my stomach." Sara turned down the air conditioner, shivering despite the blistering heat outside. "She rarely listens to reason. I'm good for the delay, though." How Catherine had missed the stilted quality of Sara's teasing was a mystery. One Sara was glad to leave unsolved. "How about I tuck Linds in when we get home and then give you a hand? I can at least boil the water for the rice."

A raised eyebrow appeared to question her offer. "Really? You'll help cook?" Catherine smirked. "What big favor am I going to have to do in return?"

"I'll have to think of something." Best intentions meant nothing. Slipping her control, the words came out sultry. What the hell was she doing? Sara fought valiantly to keep the teasing on the safe side of flirtatious. "You covering my next string of doubles sounds perfect," she continued with as much aplomb as possible.

Catherine laughed. "Sure." She glanced at Sara and gave an exaggerated wink. "I'll do that – as soon as Gil doesn't have me working a similar load of overtime. I might be able to pay you back after I retire."

"Yuck it up," Sara grumbled good-naturedly. "Just remember…You'll retire long before I will, Old Lady." It was mean, of course, but Sara enjoyed the glower that replaced Catherine's smile. Feeling more comfortable (or less panicked), she settled back in the seat and resumed watching the scenery. Las Vegas was a study in contrasts. Flashy neon and outrageous hotels on the Strip flanked by a concrete jungle of industrial zones. And on the outside ring, row after row of red tile-roofed houses.

The flash of a turn signal shone in the side view mirror.

A dark sedan merged into the line of traffic behind them as Catherine turned into their subdivision. The car was boringly bland and…familiar. "Hey, Cath? Do any of the deputies live nearby?" Sara asked idly.

"You mean like Mitchell or Evans?" The Tahoe slid to a stop at a stop sign. "I don't know. I've never asked. Why?"

Still watching the car in the mirror, Sara explained. "There's a sedan behind us. It's been there most of the drive home, and I thought I remembered it following us out of the lab lot last night. Maybe one of your neighbors just has bad taste in cars bought one of the retired department cars." Who other than a cop or a cheapskate would drive something that ugly and brown?

"I'm starving, Mommy." Lindsey's plaintive comment from the back seat indicated she was awake – and that dinner plans might be changed.

Sara should have known Catherine was made of sterner stuff. "We're having enchiladas so you'll have to wait for a bit. There are apples and bananas on the counter if you need something to hold you over." Her voice grew wry. "Consider it a real-life simulation for healthy eating. Way better than moving around the plastic fruits and vegetables at the Lied."

In the rearview mirror, Sara had a perfect view of an unhappy Lindsey. Some things never changed. She hadn't been thrilled with "good for you" foods as a kid, either. "A banana sounds good," she announced. "I'm surprised you slept through my stomach growling, Linds. Your mom thought a monster was going to crawl out of my stomach."

Humor didn't work this time. Lindsey's tightly pressed lips and crossed arms remained firmly in place.

Sara's hopes for a quiet and pleasant evening dwindled. Battles of will between the Willows women were common, and they were always filled with pyrotechnics. "I'm helping Cath cook. You want to pull up a seat and watch? I was thinking of wearing my new coat under the apron. I mean, cooking's like science. All the measuring and stuff…"

The silent standoff ended with a giggle. "You can't wear an apron _and_ a coat, Sara."

"Why not?" Giving an internal cheer, Sara peered into the back of the Tahoe and joked. "I just got the coat, and it's white. I don't want to get anything on it. An apron is the perfect accoutrement."

Face missing its scowl – yet sporting pressure marks from the stitching of the Tahoe's bench seat – Lindsey stared back. "Fine. You can wear the apron."

Sara bowed her head with and accompanying hand flourish. "Thank you, my Lady." Ignoring the gagging sounds emanating from the driver's seat, she cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Will you be attending the Sara Sidle School of Cooking, too?"

"No way," Lindsey said immediately. "I'm gonna call Jeremy and tell him all about the Science Center. He'll be mad he missed it." She didn't appear to be upset about that. In fact, Lindsey sounded gleeful. "You can read me a story later, though. I got a new book from the library yesterday. Mrs. Carlson said it has lots of science stuff in it."

First the Lied and now science books before bed? Son of a bitch, Catherine had been right. Lindsey _did_ love her. Tears filled Sara's eyes, blurring the back of the Tahoe. "I'd…I…" Not wanting to reveal how Lindsey's offer affected her, she broke off.

"How about we have group story time?" As usual, Catherine was there to save the day. "It sounds interesting, Linds. What's it called?" One of her hands rubbed reassuringly against Sara's thigh for a second.

"The City of something. I can't remember. These kids are trapped in a really old city and have to fix it." Lindsey yawned and stretched. "After I call Jeremy, can I watch TV, Mommy?" she asked.

Sara smiled despite the continued press of tears. Why had she worried? Lindsey was a typical kid; friends, TV, and fun were at the center of her world. Crazy, emotional adults barely registered. Breathing easier, Sara met Catherine's gaze and mouthed, "Thank you," as their house came into view.


	54. Chapter 54

The light on the answering machine blinked frantically as Sara followed Catherine into the kitchen. "Oh, look. Someone loved us. Wanna bet it's Grissom?" she asked, not bothering to actually check the messages.

"No." Catherine tossed her bagged, smiley-face covered lab coat on the table. "I've been in and out of casinos since I could walk. The odds on that bet are too steep. If it had been really serious, he would have called Nancy – who knew where we were. We'd have been paged." Cupping a hand over her mouth and speaking in a deep, muffled voice, Catherine continued. "Sidle, Ms. Sara Sidle. Willows, Mrs. Catherine Willows. Please come to the information desk for an urgent message."

Sara threw back her head and laughed. God, she could see (and hear) that happening. "And there would have been a cruiser out front to whisk us to the crime scene, lights and sirens blaring." And then she and Catherine would have faced a very unhappy and disapproving Grissom when they arrived. "You think he'd get the picture. I mean, neither one of us answers pagers on our days off. Nick told me he 'accidentally' leaves his pager in his locker after shift. Hell, I know we've blown the overtime budget for the entire year already."

"The Sheriff doesn't even say anything anymore." Catherine's words emanated from the refrigerator as she rooted through the items on the shelves. "He used to give Brass a hard time about all the overtime; I think Gil scares him. He's not used to people who don't have ambition – political or otherwise."

The urge to ogle the view of Catherine's ass where it stuck out from the refrigerator was overwhelming. Sara resisted. Or, she tried to resist.

Giving in to need, she propped herself against the counter and stared. Whatever Catherine hunted must be elusive. Sara hoped it continued to hide. From this angle, she could see everything. The faint outline of Catherine's underwear (bikini). The swell of each cheek. Sara's hands tingled and ached to reach out and caress…

"Damn, I thought I had a bottle of wine in here." Catherine straightened, jarring Sara from her fantasy. She turned quickly, catching Sara before she'd fully recovered. "Sara? What's wrong? Delayed attack?" The refrigerator door closed with a thud and Catherine strode across the kitchen.

Already flushed from the carnal thoughts invading her mind (and being caught in the midst of those thoughts), Sara's face grew hotter. "Uh, no. No, I'm fine, Cath," she stuttered. Unfortunately, her reassurance came too late.

Catherine's hand, chilled from the refrigerator, touched Sara's forehead and cheek. "My God, you're burning up!"

"It was hot outside." The protest was lame. Sara couldn't believe how badly she'd lost control of herself and of the situation. What had happened to the "Catherine is a friend" idea? Trying to smile, Sara found refuge in rambling speech. "I'm fine. Really. But if you think I feel hot, I'll do the 'fridge diving next time. That'll help me cool down." In fact, climbing inside the freezer sounded perfect.

Narrowed green eyes stared at Sara for a long minute. "If you're sure…" Catherine said.

Sara wasn't sure of anything. Her world was still tilted toward Catherine. "I am," she lied. "Now stop looking at me like I'm Linds with a fever. My stomach's gnawing on my backbone. Where's this enchilada dinner you promised me? I offered to help and all you've done so far is search for your next drink."

"Living with you makes me that way." Removing her hand from Sara's cheek, Catherine scanned the kitchen. "But, since I can't find the bottle, I guess I'll have to deal without alcohol as an aide."

The emotional ups and downs were too much. Mentally reeling, Sara walked on shaky legs to the pantry and hid in the well-stocked shelves. "I've got the enchilada shells," she announced. Picking them up was another matter. Her hand trembled and even the minute weight of the small bag was almost too much. Sara clutched it desperately and prayed for a return to normalcy. She wanted to go back…Back to yesterday, when living with Catherine was the best thing that had ever happened to her; when living with Catherine didn't involve her heart so much.

Sara sighed. She had to be honest with herself, at least. Yesterday had been no different than today – except she'd stopped lying about her feelings. There was no Lightbulb of Love that had suddenly flicked on in the Tahoe.

"Did the shells grow feet and run away? Or did the monster Lindsey swears used to live in the pantry come back?" Catherine asked.

Damn. Sara pasted on what she hoped was a calm, unflustered expression and turned around. "It's a big sucker, Cath. All horns and fur and this huge mouthful of fangs. We ought to hire an exterminator. I almost didn't make it out alive." Brandishing the bag of enchilada shells, she said, "If you look really hard, you can see the teeth marks in the plastic."

Her teasing met an arched eyebrow and a grin. "You want me to take the box to the lab and run some tests? Because I have a sneaky suspicion that the teeth marks will match another monster. You. Can't you control the beast in your stomach for a few more minutes?"

"A few minutes? I may not be Martha Stewart, but I still know you have to brown the meat, mix it all together, and then cook it. I'm gonna starve, Cath. Starve!" Sara clutched her stomach dramatically.

Despite Sara's act, neither food nor sympathy was offered. "Dinner will be on the table faster if you stop playing and get to work. I distinctly remember you offering to be my Kitchen Slave…"

"Assistant," Sara interrupted. "Kitchen Assistant."

"Assistant's have too many rights. I don't have time to give you a break or a salary. Nope. It's slave or nothing," Catherine said in a stern voice – and then ruined the image with a wink.

* * *

The flush on Sara's face was cute. So was the gaping mouth and wide eyes. Laughing softly, Catherine returned to the refrigerator and pulled out a pound of ground beef. "I'll start browning this if you don't mind shredding some lettuce and cheese. There are tomatoes, too."

"Shred, chop, what next?" Grumbling good naturedly, Sara retrieved the shredder from the cabinets and set it on the island. "How about some rice and beans as sides? Maybe some of that white queso you bought last week."

"And who's going to rub your stomach when it hurts later? That's more food than you need in a week, Miss Olivia." Catherine hurried to the stove and busied herself with the beef to hide her smile. Sara hated it when she teased about her appetite. The meat hit the skillet as Catherine started her mental countdown.

Three…

"I am _not_ a pig!" Sara protested right on cue.

Turning the dial on the stove, Catherine continued to count. Two…

"Lindsey was hungry, too, and you know how much she likes enchiladas." From the industrious sounds emanating from the island, Sara was turning the entire head of lettuce into tiny strips with the shredder.

"Uh huh," Catherine agreed. "She did. Except…" She grabbed a wooden spoon and gently separated the browning beef. "Linds can barely eat half of an enchilada and she hates rice." Almost there.

One…

Something soft and wet smacked into the back of Catherine's head before dropping to cling to her neck. "Take it back," Sara warned. A second lettuce bomb sailed over Catherine's shoulder and landed in the skillet with the meat.

"Why?" No longer bothering to mask her amusement, Catherine turned her head and peered at Sara. "You may not like the truth, Sar, but admit it. You eat more than Nick and Warrick combined. You ought to be as big as a house."

"I have a fast metabolism." Sara's mutter had a petulant edge and her lower lip jutted out.

Sara looked so much like Lindsey that Catherine shook her head. They usually _acted_ alike, too. "So you keep saying," she finally responded. The meat was almost finished. Stirring it for a few more minutes, she stared blindly into the skillet, mind wandering. Today had been good. Fun. Relaxed.

Why couldn't she remember days like that before? Adventure Days weren't new. Catherine and Lindsey had even been to the Leid last year. They'd also been to the zoo, ridden the rides on the Strip, visited Hoover Dam…

"I've got the extras ready. Is there anything else I can help with?" Sara asked, interrupting Catherine's thoughts. "We've pretty much reached the end of my culinary talents, but I'm sure I can follow directions. I don't blow things up in the lab. I'm probably safe in the kitchen, too."

Catherine turned off the burner, punched in the temperature for the oven, and shelved her mental musings for later. "I want to see proof of that before I turn you loose, Sara." Moving to the sink, she set the skillet of meat on a trivet. "You're on fetch duty for now," Catherine announced. "Can you grab the strainer and one of those small glass jars for the grease?"

A loud sigh answered her command. "I don't know, Cath. That's so hard. Can't you let me do something easy?" Sara asked in dramatic whine. Ignoring Catherine's raised eyebrow and rolled eyes, she stomped across the kitchen and wrenched open the pantry door. "Jars and strainers. What's next? Garbage duty?"

"Could be." Grinning at Sara's continued antics, Catherine picked up the enchilada shells Sara had placed on the island. She removed half a dozen, stacking them on a plate separated by sheets of paper towel. "Hey, while you're over there, we need the jar of enchilada sauce, too. Since you're ready to keel over from hunger, I won't bother to make any." Catherine was careful not to mention how happy she was to avoid homemade sauce.

"Geez, is everything my fault?" A clink of glass announced Sara had retrieved at least one of her assigned items from the pantry.

The enchilada shells went into the microwave and Catherine heated them quickly. "Not everything, Sar. I mean, you didn't bury Hoffa, did you?"

"Of course I did. Why do you think they haven't found him?" Sara's grin exposed the slight gap between her teeth. "Better think twice about pissing me off – or making me wait too much longer for dinner. I might have to use…" Breaking off, she scanned the kitchen. "I might have to use this mallet thing on you," she finished, grabbing a metal meat tenderizer from the utensil caddy and brandishing it at Catherine.

Catherine held up her hands in mock surrender. "There are a couple of things you need to know," she told Sara with mock solemnity. It was hard to keep the laugher from bursting free. Sara was still grinning, despite the mallet raised above her head. She was anything except scary. "One, if you hit me with that thing, you're going to leave spatter evidence. That will be the end of your career as a master criminal."

The mallet wavered as Sara started to laugh.

"And two…" Catherine paused for dramatic effect.

"And?" Sara mimicked, moving one step closer.

With a sudden lunge, Catherine ripped the mallet from Sara's hand. "Did I forget to mention I won't go quietly? You might be the one with the flat spot on her forehead." She swung the heavy utensil at Sara, letting it come to a gentle stop against her head. "Didn't think about that, did you?"

Before Sara had a chance to answer, a very irritated comment floated in from the doorway to the living room. "Mommy, if you don't stop playing with Sara, I'm calling Aunt Nancy!"


	55. Chapter 55

"Anything but that!" Sara held up her hands in surrender while Catherine hid the meat tenderizer behind her back. "Come on, Linds. We weren't playing. We were…" When Sara faltered, she turned to Catherine with a silent appeal for help.

Sidling back to the stove, Catherine casually checked the oven timer. "I was helping Sara put away the clean dishes." It might be fun to tease Sara, but Catherine wouldn't leave her to handle Lindsey's wrath alone. "I've got everything ready to go; give things about twenty minutes to cook, kiddo." Then, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, she asked, "Have you cleaned your room? I told you it could wait so we wouldn't miss the Lied."

It was a low blow. Catherine felt singed from the angry glare turned her way. For a six-year old, Lindsey was an expert at glares. "We've been home for _hours_." Apparently, she was also good at exaggeration. "I cleaned my room while I talked to Jeremy. You can go check," she said, making Catherine sound like an untrusting ogre.

"Thank you." Careful not to engage Lindsey further on the explosive topic, Catherine got the enchilada shells and beef arranged in the baking dish to her satisfaction and reached for the jar of sauce Sara had retrieved. "Go ahead and set the table, please, and Sara will help you with the drinks." For an instant, she felt bad about throwing Sara under the bus that way; still, it got Lindsey out of her hair – and would keep her and Sara from "playing" anymore.

Catherine kept her attention on finishing dinner as the sound of slamming cabinets, drawers, and refrigerator doors filled the kitchen. Ah, family time at the Willows' house. A tiny grin crept out. She wouldn't trade it for the world.

"Hey, Cath, do you want Soccer Ronald or Skateboard Ronald?" Sara called out.

The choice was simple. "Soccer, please. I'm always afraid the other one is going to have saggy pants, and no way do I want to see _that_ from a clown." With the food in the oven, Catherine turned away from the stove and began cleaning up the preparation mess.

"Does that remind you of anything?" Sara asked in a nearly-soundless whisper. She pointed at a Deputy dragging a handcuffed suspect down the hall.

Watching the scene for a second, Catherine shook her head. "Just another day at the office." Well, if you discounted the suddenly high volume of criminals filling every nook and cranny of the Sheriff's Office. Bringing most of the local gang members in to provide evidence for their current case had worked in finding a suspect, but she wasn't looking forward to seeing the Sheriff anytime soon. "You ready to head back to the lab? Gil was kind enough to leave all of his paperwork for me to finish."

"You're so lucky." Sara stepped out of the way of Catherine's swatting hand. "You know, I dreamed of being Grissom's favorite student. I should probably hate you, Cath."

"I am more than happy to give up that gold star," Catherine announced. She shoved open the door and let Sara lead the way outside. "It's a heavy piece of equipment, and I don't know if I can hold it any longer." The parking lot was bright with burgeoning sunlight. Stopping next to the Tahoe, Catherine tilted her head back and took a deep breath. "God, I'm tired." The crushing overtime hadn't slowed in months. "I have this image of hopping into the Tahoe and driving into the hills."

Sara's door closed with a dull thunk. "As fun as that would be…" She held out her right hand. "Give me the keys; I'll drive. Linds would kill us if we went on vacation without her – and I think she's paid attention to our work conversations. The kid would know how to bury the bodies so they'd never find us."

Catherine stared at Sara's hand for a second before tossing her the keys. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Do you have any idea how amazing it is to have a daughter following in my footsteps?"

"Hey, I think of her as mine, too, you know." Sara winked and jingled the keys. "Now get in the damned car, woman. You've got paperwork to finish before we can finally go home. I can't believe you volunteered for more overtime without running it by me first."

"My God." It was hard to get the door open while laughing. Catherine struggled with the handle for a second before finally succeeding. "You're worse than Eddie. 'Run it by you?' Like you own me or something. We are so getting divorced, Sar. I'll have my lawyer get with your lawyer in the morning."

"Just as soon as you finish all that paperwork, huh?" Sara asked mockingly.

The roar of the engine cut off Catherine's reply and she watched Sara smirk as they pulled out of the parking lot. Sara was getting better at the verbal sparring, but it was still unusual for her to get the last word with Catherine. Settling back into the passenger seat, Catherine decided to let Sara think she'd won this round. Catherine would give her this one special day before resuming her control of their conversational contests.

The traffic decided to make the day doubly special. They completed the trip in less than thirty minutes. "It's an omen, Cath. Quick drive, quick work." Sara parked the Tahoe and turned to look at Catherine. "I'll hit the break room for some news and coffee. You've got an hour – then I'm dragging you out of here."

Catherine raised an eyebrow and gave fair warning. "Try it, Sidle, and it won't be Lindsey burying bodies." Her crusty glare was ruined by her smile. "I'll work as long as it takes. If you don't want to wait, go home."

An emotion Catherine couldn't identify flashed across Sara's features. One of her hands rubbed at her chest, over her heart, before she turned away to check that the SUV was locked. "Get going, Cath," she said softly and seriously. Play time must be over. "I'll be in the break room when you're ready." One of Sara's hands settled on Catherine's back, steering her into the building.

They walked together down the quiet hallways. "You sure you're OK with waiting?" Catherine asked. Sara had grown too silent. Something was wrong. "I really can get myself home. You can take Linds to McDonalds," she added in an attempt to make things right again. "I won't even give you the Mom Speech about eating less fat."

Sara's smile lacked its normal brilliance. "Nah. The couch is calling my name. I'll nap until you're finished saving Gris' butt and then drive us home." Her hand dropped away from Catherine's back and she retreated (it was the only way Catherine could describe it) into the break room.

"Um, OK," Catherine called after her. Damn Grissom and his reports. If they'd left right after shift…

"Catherine Willows?" A man in a rumpled suit, clutching an armful of file folders, hovered a few feet away.

Taking one last look into the break room, Catherine pushed her worries away. "Yes; can I help you?" She didn't recognize the man; he was definitely not a cop, no gun bulge.

"I'm Ted Goggle, with Family Services," he said. Well, that explained the suit. "I have some questions for you."

"Really?" Catherine resumed walking toward her office and Ted fell into step next to her. "I don't have any cases involving kids _or_ families right now. Unless your department's branched out to drug pushers or gamblers…" Trailing off, she waited for Ted to start talking.

Getting her wish wasn't as wonderful as Catherine might have thought. "I'm here about your daughter, Ms. Willows. Your ex-husband filed a report, said your new lifestyle created an atmosphere harmful to your daughter."

Catherine stopped and spun toward Ted. "This is Eddie's idea of a joke, right?" It had to be. There was no way Eddie could hope to prove that anything she did could harm Lindsey. "Is this about last month when I was late picking Linds up from ballet? I'd already called Nancy, my sister; she was on her way. I didn't realize the studio would call Eddie."

Appearing alarmed, Ted stepped away from Catherine. "I'm afraid this is not a joke, Ms. Willows. I've already made a field visit to your home." While Catherine tried to digest that, he fumbled with the file folders in his arms. "Here are the forms and documentation. Lindsey seemed fine; however, there will be an investigation into Mr. Willows' claims about your lifestyle." Ted's professional air wavered briefly, and he met Catherine's eyes. "Get a lawyer, Ms. Willows. You need a good one."

He was gone before Catherine could respond.

"Hey, what are you doing back here? I thought you'd be running for the door." Greg stuck the coffee pot into the sink and turned on the water. "No hot date?" His eyebrows wiggled and Sara ground her teeth. She hated it when he did that. "I'd be happy to fix that. I'm off in an hour."

Off-kilter from her earlier conversation with Catherine, Sara lost her head. "I'm gay."

Greg's eyes bugged and the coffee pot clanged into the sink.

"I don't date men. Ever." It was like being possessed. Sara couldn't stop the flood of words. "Stop hitting on me. On Catherine. Hell, on every woman you've ever met." Her tirade ground to a halt, and she stared at Greg. Oh, God. What was she doing? "I…I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

There was no response. The water continued to pour down, splashing onto the abandoned glass pot.

"Greg?" Sara closed her eyes and fought to get her bearings – and her sanity – back. "I _am_ gay, and I'm also a bitch. A tired one who can't seem to get her point across without saying things I don't mean."

The damage was worse than Sara anticipated. Greg remained mute. On the verge of panic, Sara finally relaxed when Greg turned off the water and walked her way. The good feelings evaporated, though, when he continued past. "Cath?" Greg's voice cracked. "Cath, what's wrong?"

Catherine was here? Sara whirled around and immediately saw the reason for Greg's concern. She looked terrible, pale and unsteady on her feet. Springing forward, she gently took Catherine's arm. "Greg, help me get her to the couch."

"Come on, Cath. Sit down." Greg glanced at Sara and mouthed, "What's going on?"

Sara could only shrug. She had no idea. Catherine had been fine when she'd left her at the break room door. They shuffled to the couch in a bizarre tangle or arms and legs. It would have been funny if Sara hadn't caught the tears welling in Catherine's eyes. Once Sara and Greg got Catherine settled, Sara dropped to her knees and gripped Catherine's hands. "Cath, what happened?" She repeated the question a couple of times before she saw some semblance of recognition from the other woman.

"We happened, Sara. You were right, and I didn't listen." Catherine pulled one hand away and clumsily reached for the files that had fallen next to her on the couch. "Eddie called Family Services. It seems I'm suddenly an unfit mother."

An unfit mother. Sara felt the room spin and Catherine's words echoed in her head. _We happened, Sara…I'm…an unfit mother_. This was her fault. All her fault. "I'll be out this afternoon. Just give me a couple of hours to pack and call a mover, OK?"


	56. Chapter 56

Patting Catherine's hands again, Sara surged to her feet. She had a lot to do and… Damn it. She checked her watch. It was too early to hunt for a mover. "Greg, stay with her. I've got to go."

"Go? Go where?" It was Catherine who asked the question; Catherine who clutched at Sara's arm before she could stride from the room. "Sara, you can't leave. We have to find a way to stop this!"

Sara smiled gently and blinked rapidly to disperse the tears trying to spill out. "I've got you…it covered, Cath." It got harder to keep her lips frozen in a smile; they wanted to tremble. A stabbing pain pierced her chest. "As soon as I'm out of the house, Eddie won't have a leg to stand on in court. He'll have to drop the complaint."

Actually, that wasn't _quite_ true. As long as Sara had any contact with Catherine, Eddie's case still had merit. Hoping Catherine didn't make that leap of logic with her, Sara slowly slid backward toward the door. She could type up her resignation first and leave it on Grissom's desk. By then, she should be able to call a local mover.

The confusion and hurt in Catherine's eyes added to the pain in Sara's chest. It took effort to breathe and Sara prayed she didn't lose control. Not yet. Not here. Catherine and Lindsey had to be her first priority. Her broken heart was the least of Sara's worries. "Go home, Cath. Be with Linds." It was a low blow. Sara saw Catherine visibly flinch, and the hand still grasping at her arm dropped away. "Please," she added gently. "Social workers mean well, but…She's probably confused."

So was Catherine. She appeared dazed.

"Go," Sara commanded. "Greg will walk you to the Tahoe." Before Catherine pulled herself together, she stepped back and hurried from the room. Each step echoed in Sara's mind, a ringing death-knell to her dreams. The bright lights overhead stabbed at Sara's eyes. The air-conditioning sent icy fingers down her back and into her heart.

By the time she reached her small, forgotten lab-cum-office, Sara was shivering convulsively and squinting against the leading edge of a killer migraine. That didn't stop her from dropping onto a stool and booting up her laptop. Urgency thrummed through her system, and Sara's leg bounced energetically in response. Her fingers trembled as they rested atop the keys.

The blinking cursor mocked Sara's need for speed.

What was she supposed to say? Working in the Las Vegas Crime Lab was a dream job, and Grissom knew that. He also knew _Sara_. A resignation, out of the blue, would set off even his early warning system, and he'd want answers. Damn it. Sara's hands balled into fists and she glared at the computer screen. There had to be a way.

_Dear Dr. Grissom_

Sara went with a formal address for her resignation.

_I regret to inform you_ that I'm an idiot _that I will be leaving Las Vegas, and the Crime Lab, effective immediately._ Sara would worry about where she was going after she moved another day. _I have enjoyed my time here_ until now; _however, I have been offered a once in a lifetime opportunity._

At that, Sara laughed bitterly. Some opportunity, fleeing ahead of Eddie's private investigators and Social Services. Glancing at the brief letter, she hesitated. It wasn't enough to keep Grissom from having questions, but Sara didn't know what else to tell him. There wasn't another job; she'd stopped looking for those when she made her decision to come here. When she found a home with Catherine.

The pounding in her head grew, and Sara swallowed hard against a sudden surge of nausea. Wiping at the sweat slicking her forehead, she typed the closing to her letter and clicked on the printer icon. A loud whir filled the room as the small printer came to life. Sara slid off the stool and paced slowly toward it. The paper was warm and light. Too light to have so much impact on her life. Carefully setting the letter on the counter, she signed it, idly noting how uneven her signature looked.

One more thing for Grissom to notice.

Sara didn't care about that any more. She didn't care about anything. She didn't _feel_ anything. Even the pains in her head and chest were gone, replaced by a floating sense of unreality. Of calm. Letter carefully held in both hands, Sara left the lab and headed for Grissom's office. The few people in the hallways smiled at her. Sara smiled back – and kept walking.

Grissom's office was dark, illuminated by the single lamp on his desk. Sara cleared a pile of reports off the surface and set her resignation letter in the middle of the blotter. Even Grissom couldn't miss her letter there. She turned to go and then stopped. As soon as he read what she'd written, Grissom would call. And page.

With a savage yank, Sara pulled the pager from her belt. It landed on Grissom's desk, right next to her resignation letter. She fished her department-issued cell phone out of her jean's pocket and set it down as well. Grissom could have all the questions he wanted. He'd never have answers, though. Despite divesting herself of the equipment, Sara felt weighed down as she trudged from the office.

She didn't want to leave. Las Vegas, the lab, _Catherine_… They were the closest thing to a real home and family Sara had ever had. Why couldn't she have been wrong about the consequences of moving into Catherine's house?

Why hadn't she followed her instincts and clocked Eddie the first time she'd met him?

* * *

Sara left. She walked out. Catherine stared after her and waved off Greg's attempts to move her toward the door. "Stop!" she finally snapped. "I'm fine." Or she would be – as soon as she found Eddie and explained just how much she appreciated his latest ploy.

Unfortunately, finding Eddie would have to wait. Catherine had other things to handle first. Shaking off the lingering shock and anger, she looked at Greg. "I'm not going home, and I'm not going to faint. Really. Stop trying to shove me out of the building." She relented when she saw the real worry in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Greg. You know I don't react well to surprises, and this? Big surprise."

A hint of Greg's normal, brash smile crept out. "You do just fine with surprises, Cath. It's the rest of us who have trouble handling _you_…"

"Word of advice, Greg." Catherine felt some of her balance return as she faced him and winked. "No one handles me; don't even try. But I am sorry," she repeated. "I'm going to hide out in my office and _you_ are going to finish making that perfect pot of coffee."

Greg didn't look happy with the job assignments. "Maybe I…"

"Thank you." Interrupting before he could finish what was sure to be an offer to help, Catherine started for the door. "Eddie's my problem." Even if he had brought their personal differences to the lab on multiple occasions. It was time to put a stop to that once and for all. Lindsey needed her father; however, Eddie had crossed a line now, and Catherine mentally vowed to make sure it never happened again.

Striding down the hall, Catherine worked her way through the conversation with Ted Goggle. What had he said, exactly? That Eddie complained about her lifestyle being bad for Lindsey. He couldn't have meant all the overtime at the lab. She'd worked long hours for years; that's why she had standing arrangements with Nancy for sleep-overs and after-school pickups. Still mulling over the conversation, Catherine entered her office and dropped into her desk chair.

If she was going to hash this out with Eddie, she needed more information. Calling Eddie was out. He wouldn't tell her anything – especially the truth. And Catherine was honest enough to acknowledge her own negotiation skills would be non-existent if she spoke to her ex-husband.

There was only one option left. Catherine reached for her phone. It took mere seconds for the call to connect, and she automatically counted the rings. One…Two…

"Cat?" Nancy sounded frazzled and childish shrieks and a television commercial sounded in the background. "What's going on? The school called, and Lindsey said some guy from Social Services talked to her. Are you OK? Is Eddie OK? I brought the kids home with me. "

"I'm fine, Nance." Eddie? Well, he was good for now. The information Catherine hoped to get from her sister might have an impact on that, though. Idly toying with a pen on her desk, Catherine relayed the morning's event. "I don't know what Eddie's game is. I don't care. He's not putting Lindsey in the middle," she finished. As far as Catherine was concerned, he wasn't getting Lindsey at all. "Was she upset? Is that why you brought her home?" God, Catherine needed to be there with her daughter; she also needed a chance to put a plan together. And a plan required information, not the tearfest any contact with Lindsey would become. "What did she tell you?" Goggle hadn't impressed her as a top notch investigator. There was a chance he'd tipped his hand when he'd questioned Lindsey.

Nancy's sigh wasn't encouraging. "You know Lindsey. I swear you've trained her how to handle interrogations. Even bribing her with ice cream got me a shrug and an 'I don't remember, Aunt Nancy. He just wanted to know about Mommy and Sara.'"

Mommy and Sara. The pen clattered to the desk as Catherine made the connection. "That bastard!" Eddie was a dead man – and she needed to find Sara now. Before the other woman had a chance to run away. Catherine was out of her chair and into the hallway in a heartbeat.

"Cat?" Nancy was getting angry. There was a dangerous edge to her voice that Catherine easily recognized. "Tell. Me. What. Is. Going. On." Definitely angry. Nancy only talked between her teeth when she was about to lose her cool.

"Head to my place, Nance, as soon as you can toss Linds and Jeremy into the car." God, Catherine was an idiot. Sara had warned her this might happen, and if Catherine was too late… "You have to stop Sara."

Catherine's logical leaps hadn't translated well. "Stop Sara? What's she doing? Damn it! I'm not taking the kids anywhere until I know what's going on!" Nancy shouted into the phone.

Nearly sprinting down the hall, Catherine wrenched open the door to Sara's lab. It was empty. All of Sara's things were gone. "Sara's moving out, Nance. Today." Catherine remembered, now, what Sara had said in the break room. "Eddie must have told Social Services that Sara and I were living together. That we're lovers. And now Sara's moving out to prove him wrong."

"And you want me and the kids to stop her? No. Sorry, that's your job." Nancy sounded adamant.

It took all of Catherine's self control not to scream. She _did_ close the door to the lab with a resounding – and satisfying – bang. "Just keep her there, all right? I'm headed to the parking lot now." Gil could handle his own paperwork for once, and he could find someone else to cover her shift tonight. Catherine had no illusions about the ease of convincing Sara not to move out. "Tell Sara that. Tell her not to leave before we talk."

Nancy's agreement barely registered. Catherine _was_ running now, footsteps echoing in the hallway. She saw Greg waving at her through the glass windows of his workstation and didn't slow. Not until he held up a piece of paper and gestured frantically for her to come into the lab. Sliding to a halt, Catherine reversed direction. "What is it, Greg?" Remembering the ways she'd snapped at him earlier, she deliberately kept the irritation out of her voice.

"Lindsey isn't your only problem," Greg said soberly. "I…Well, you didn't look fine, like you said. So I stopped in to see if Grissom was in his office." Breaking off and shrugging in response to Catherine's heated glare, he offered the paper in his hands. "He was gone, and this was sitting on his desk."


	57. Chapter 57

Normally, Catherine lived for solid evidence. The letter in Greg's hand, though, didn't give her the usual elation. She stared at the jagged lines of Sara's signature and felt only a crushing sense of failure. This was all her fault. She'd ignored Sara's fears. Worse, she'd ignored the very real threat Eddie had posed since their divorce. The booze and drugs. The increasing physical violence.

Failure became rage in a heartbeat. Damn it. She was done whining about what she _should _have done. Snatching the paper from Greg's hand, Catherine crumpled it into a tight ball. "You never saw this," she said, staring into his eyes.

"Saw what?" His voice squeaked, and he took a step back.

"Good boy," Catherine said absently, no longer focused on Greg. She had to get home and stop Sara before she disappeared. Her shoes echoed thunderously as she took off, nearly running by the time she reached the outer door.

In defiance of departmental rules, Catherine deployed the lights and sirens on the Tahoe and added profligate use of the horn to clear a path on the crowded streets. In less than thirty minutes, she pulled up in front of her house. Nancy's car sat diagonally in the driveway, empty. One of the rear doors gaped open. There was no sign of her sister or Sara. Praying she wasn't too late, Catherine leapt from the vehicle.

The front door shot open before she got to the front walk.

"Sara! Sara, wait!" Nancy's voice emanated through the open door, but Sara didn't slow down. She had a box with haphazardly packed clothing spilling over the top in her arms.

Her rapid stride faltered momentarily when she saw Catherine, though. "Go back to the lab, Cath. I told you I'd be out of the house today." Sara hitched the box higher against her chest. "Nancy's letting me borrow the car. I made arrangements with the storage company to hold my things, and I have a room at a hotel on the Strip."

Did anyone listen to Catherine when she talked? Marching up to Sara, Catherine ripped the box out of her arms and dropped it onto the ground. "Stop. Just stop, damn it!" She held onto Sara and kept her in place by sheer force. "I'm sorry it took me so long to put it all together. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you in the first place," Catherine announced. Sara was still stiff and uncooperative in her grasp. "I was wrong, Sara, and now we have to make it right."

Sara shifted, and her eyes slid away.

"We, Sara. _We_ are going to fix this, and not by moving you into a hotel or apartment." Slowly releasing her grip on Sara, Catherine stepped away. "Come back inside and let's talk, OK? Whatever Eddie told the social worker, there's no proof. We aren't lovers. We're roommates."

That didn't sound right somehow. Catherine frowned, trying to put her finger on the problem, and watched Sara flinch and then shrink away. "Honey?" Her eyes flew to Sara's arms, bare beneath the sleeves of her T-shirt. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The red fingermarks on Sara's pale skin were answer enough. "No. I'm fine, Cath," Sara lied with a tight smile. "But I can't go inside. I can't stay, not while you're under investigation."

"Sara…" Enough was enough, Catherine thought.

"This isn't about what Eddie can prove." For the first time since Catherine stormed into the break room, Sara laughed. "God, you spend too much time with Grissom. In Family Court, there don't have to be bruises. Eddie didn't claim you were abusing Lindsey. All he has to do is convince a judge that you're a bad influence. Being a lesbian…"

When Catherine tried again to protest, Sara held up her hand. Flushing in anger and frustration, Catherine crossed her arms over her chest and remained silent.

"The case is about appearances, Cath. If you _appear_ to be a lesbian, if you _live_ or…" Sara's voice hitched and Catherine thought she glimpsed tears in her eyes. "If you _love_ another woman, the judge could rule in Eddie's favor. Don't lose Lindsey to prove a point. I understand this isn't about me and what I am."

* * *

Sara watched Catherine digest her comments. She didn't look happy. Or accepting. In fact, Catherine looked determine. "It _is_ about you, Sara," she said. "It's also about my bastard of an ex and the fact he's always looking for a way to hurt me. Now pick up the damned box and go inside. You aren't moving. We're going to sit down and talk about this."

For a split second, Sara considered leaving her things and simply taking Nancy's car. Catherine was being completely unreasonable.

Catherine must have read her mind. One hand latched onto the collar of Sara's shirt and they marched toward the front door in perfectly matched strides. "You are absolutely the most stubborn person I know," Catherine announced. Her hand tightened and Sara waited for the thin cotton shirt to rip under the pressure. "Inside. Now."

As if she had a choice, Sara thought, trotting obediently into the house at Catherine's side. "Hey, Nancy. Um…It looks like I won't be needing the car after all," she mumbled.

"No, I guess you don't." Nancy at Sara from her spot on the couch. "I told you Cath would be home soon. Next time, listen. Catherine gets snippy when she's angry, and I get enough of that from Linds and Jeremy every day." She patted the empty cushion next to her. "Sit down before my sister strangles you."

"I'm not strangling her, Nancy." Catherine let go of Sara and took a seat in the overstuffed arm chair to one side of the couch. "It was either hang on tight or chase Sara down the street. I'm sure getting arrested for reckless driving would hurt my case."

Giving up on convincing Catherine she should leave, Sara dropped onto the couch. "What _won't_ hurt your case? Do we even know what Eddie has?" Other than me, she didn't ask. "Who told him I lived here?" He hadn't been hanging around the lab, and Catherine got violent if he called the house or the lab.

"Unless he's psychic, no one. After that last scene at the lab – the one you walked in on – I had Gil put him on the banned list at the lab." The fine lines around Catherine's lips and eyes were clearly visible as she frowned. "Lindsey must have said something. It's not like we told her to keep you a secret."

At that, Nancy stood up. "Let me get the kids," she said. "I didn't have any luck prying answers out of them; maybe _you_ will."

Sara kept her eyes on Catherine as Nancy climbed the stairs. She didn't like Catherine's strained expression or the defeated slump to her shoulders. "Have you called a lawyer?" Catherine might listen to a legal professional about the benefits of Sara moving out.

Unfortunately, Catherine shook her head. "I didn't have time," she answered caustically. "I had to hurry home to keep _someone_ from doing something noble and stupid." Glancing at the stairs, she paused, and Sara turned her head to look as well. Nancy and the kids were nowhere to be seen. Her attention was still on the missing family members when Catherine surged out of the chair and knelt at her feet. "Thank you."

"What?" Sara was so surprised her voice cracked on the word.

"I can't believe you offered to leave just to keep Eddie from trying to steal Lindsey," Catherine elaborated. "He doesn't really want her; a daughter's too much work. And that's when he only has her a couple weekends a month. With all that's going on…" A small smile snuck out, charming Sara with its whimsy. "Will you marry me? No one has _ever_ done anything like that for me."

Sara stared at Catherine, torn between hysterical laughter and a need to scream "yes!" at the top of her lungs.

"Can I be your flower girl, Mommy?" Lindsey bounced into the room, all smiles and limitless energy. Sara longed for an ounce of that. The months of overtime, the horror of Eddie's lawsuit, all topped off with the restraint it took not to respond to Catherine's proposal had left her enervated. "You said yes, didn't you, Sara?"

The lack of energy grew worse. "Linds…" How did you explain the reality of homosexuality to a seven-year old? Sara shook her head. It wasn't worth it. She'd stick with the basics. "Linds, your mom was only joking. We do that a lot. You know that," Sara finished.

"Oh." God, Sara's day was complete. Lindsey's lower lip jutted out and it trembled slightly. "I don't think your joke is very funny."

Sitting back on her heels, Catherine said, "I'm not laughing either, honey. In fact, I'm tired, and worried, and a little scared. I heard you talked with someone at school today. I bet he wanted to know about me and Sara, huh? That we live together?"

The quivering lip didn't go away entirely. Lindsey nodded hesitantly and sniffed. "Yeah. I didn't like him, Mommy. He kept telling me everything would be OK and that nothing was my fault. Of _course_ it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything!"

Catherine and Sara moved at the same time, grabbing Lindsey in a tight group hug. "No, Linds. You didn't do anything, honey," Catherine said. She met Sara's eyes over Lindsey's head, tears streaking her face. "That man…" Her voice faded, and Sara prayed Catherine didn't lose control. Lindsey was already on edge. "He was there to get some information for your father. I want to make sure he gets everything he needs, though, so I need you to tell me what you talked about."

The tiny body in Sara's arms wiggled and wiggled until Lindsey squirmed free. "He didn't do a lot of talking, Mom."

They were losing Lindsey. All the intensity. All the questions. If they weren't careful, she'd shut down like any suspect in interrogation. "Hey, kiddo," Sara said. "You did good. Answering questions is hard work."

Lindsey's smile reminded Sara of Catherine; it lit up her face and brightened her eyes. "It wasn't that bad, Sara. I know lots of stuff, but he didn't ask me anything hard. Not math problems like Mrs. Walters."

Even Catherine relaxed enough to chuckle. Sara settled back into the couch and let Lindsey have her space. "I guess you don't want to hear I like math, huh?"

"You're weird, Sara" Lindsey responded with absolutely no doubt.

"Yeah, I hear that all the time." Mental fingers crossed, Sara subtly eased back into teasing information from Lindsey. "What did you want to tell the guy today? The things he didn't ask about?"

Hopping onto the couch, Lindsey snuggled into Sara's side. "He was almost as weird as you. Why do I care if you sleep in the same room with Mommy? It's way more fun to talk about the Lied or all the movie nights. And I would have told him about Olivia. Remember your first night here?"

"Hey, don't forget the pig, the real Olivia, I got your mom." Sara's joviality was faked. Wrapping an arm around Lindsey's shoulders, she glanced at Catherine. "I bet that lawyer would have squealed like our Olivia if you'd told him about all that." What the hell was that guy thinking, asking Lindsey about their sleeping arrangements? A trickle of anger shoved away some of Sara's fear. She was going to make sure that lousy lawyer regretted his visit with Lindsey.


	58. Chapter 58

Throttling down on her anger, Sara worked to stay calm, at least on the outside. They still didn't know what the lawyer had asked Lindsey. "So you didn't get to say anything about Olivia, huh? I bet that made you mad."

"No, I wasn't mad about that, Sara," Lindsey answered with an impatient wiggle. "I just wanted him to stop talking; he's worse than Grandma when I ride my bike without a helmet." Proving that a talent for drama was inherited, two tiny hands waved in the air. "And when he wasn't talking and telling me everything would be OK, he showed me pictures of you and Mommy."

"Pictures?" The word sprang out, fueled by Sara's disbelief and smoldering anger.

It was a mistake.

Lindsey pulled away as if she'd been slapped – and Sara had been the one swinging. She had done what the lawyer had not. She'd made Lindsey afraid. "I'm sorry, Linds. I'm sorry." Sara didn't reach out for Lindsey; she might clutch the wide-eyed little girl and demand answers. The restraint didn't mean Sara wasn't trying to imagine what kind of pictures the guy had. She and Catherine were nothing more than friends, if Sara didn't count her fantasies. You couldn't take pictures of fantasies.

Forgiveness wasn't immediately offered. Poor Lindsey. She'd been through a lot today. Creepy lawyers at school and freaked out parents at home. She stared at Sara, as if weighing her options Run or hug? Cry or laugh? Finally, though, she simply shrugged. "Can I go upstairs now? Aunt Nancy said I could watch a movie while she helped you pack."

"Go ahead, honey," Catherine answered, and Sara caught the quiver in her voice. A quick glance, though, showed no expression on her face. That disappeared the second Lindsey ran up the stairs. "Oh my God, Sara," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Pictures…"

They were screwed. Sara understood that. Understood that Catherine understood. She still didn't want to make the admission out loud. "Like you said, Eddie doesn't have anything, Cath. Those pictures can only help your case because we haven't done anything wrong."

"The pictures…" Catherine's laugh sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Sara, Eddie wouldn't do that. He doesn't have time; he doesn't think that far ahead."

Staring blankly into space, Sara tried to figure out what Catherine was trying to say. "Eddie didn't take the pictures," she said, repeating the only thing she _thought_ she understood. "Eddie isn't smart enough to take the pictures." Better. Things were slowly making sense.

"No," Catherine agreed. "He didn't."

Eddie hadn't taken any pictures, yet the lawyer had shown them to Lindsey. "If Eddie didn't take them," Sara asked, "who did?" As she met Catherine's eyes, she thought she saw the answer there.

It was confirmed a second later "Sam. It has to be." Catherine accepted the hand Sara thrust in her direction. Her fingers were cold, the chill working into Sara's bones almost immediately. "Now I'm scared, Sara. Eddie wasn't a problem. He's usually drunk or high or both, and all he wants is for me to pay him off." Catherine's grip turned crushing. "Sam is _dangerous_."

Sara knew that. She'd tried to tell Catherine that after their trip to the Rampart. Now, in an attempt to make Catherine feel better, she said, "Sam can't do anything, Cath. It doesn't matter what kind of pictures he has; we haven't _done_ anything, remember?" But they needed to. Catherine had to see reason about hiring a lawyer. "Cath," she started.

* * *

"You don't have to say it, Sara," Catherine interrupted. "It's time I stop sitting here panicking. We have to do something or Sam will steamroll right over us. He can't do that. Not to me."

Sara's slow, lop-sided smile didn't lighten the tension in her face. "To us, Cath. This isn't about just you and Lindsey anymore." When she paused, Catherine heard her swallow. "Whatever… whatever our relationship really is, it isn't wrong. Sam can't make it a weapon," she vowed.

There was something more than a few pictures and a lawsuit going on for Sara. It wasn't the first time Catherine wondered what happened in Sara's head. One day soon, she'd find out. "We need a plan, Sar. We need a plan and we need those pictures."

"We need a lawyer," Sara stated. "I'm assuming you burned your last favor with the guy you called for Brenda and Tina. Do you have anyone else in your mental rolodex?"

"I was a dancer, not a hooker. I didn't have a lawyer on speed dial. " Catherine chuckled when Sara stuck her tongue out in response to her comment. "Besides, have you ever tried to stuff an address book into a g-string? Those things are heavy and they keep slipping out – and the guys prefer to see skin." She got a long look for her humor before Sara laughed and leaned back on the couch. "OK. OK. Finding a good lawyer has to be part of the plan. Anything else?" Catherine asked.

Sara shook her head. "I've got nothing. My only experience with Social Services was a long time ago, and I wasn't fighting to stay with my mom. Maybe the plan has to come _after_ the lawyer. Wanna check the Yellow Pages?"

"Only if I want to lose Lindsey." Catherine climbed out of the chair and rubbed her eyes. "Let me call the guy I used for the divorce. He can work on getting the photos while we look for his replacement."

"And a plan," Sara pointed out.

"And a plan; although," Catherine added wryly, "after we take a look at what Sam has on us, it might be moving in the middle of the night." It had to be something Sam thought would bury them. He wouldn't tip his hand unless he was sure he could maneuver her into doing what he wanted. "I'll make the call now." Before Catherine drove herself crazy guessing about those pictures – or the outcome of the lawsuit.

* * *

Sitting across the conference table from Paul Garmon, Catherine tightened her jaw to hide a yawn. God, the double shifts hadn't stopped, and these meetings… "What did you find?" The question held all of Catherine's faltering hope. She hadn't found a better lawyer. Every time she admitted Sam Braun's possible involvement, the latest lawyer prospect suddenly discovered a very busy calendar.

"I got the photos and…and the rest of the evidence," Paul admitted, not bothering to look up from the manila envelope in his hands. "Social Services isn't known for playing hardball, Catherine. In fact, I've been across the aisle from Ted Goggle before. I've won every time."

Before now. The implication was clear. Paul didn't think they'd win this case. Sam's involvement changed everything. Slumping in her chair, Catherine felt tears burn her eyes. What was she going to do now? A sharp knock sounded as the first tear slipped free. Bending forward, she prayed whoever was there didn't come inside. It was bad enough Paul was a witness to her breakdown.

The door opened in defiance of Catherine's wishes. "Sorry I'm late." Spinning around, tears forgotten, Catherine stared as Sara hurried into the office. "Grissom wanted me to look at something for his latest case. You don't want to bring the guys in on this, Cath, so I couldn't tell him no," Sara announced.

Emotions already seesawing from Paul's pessimism, Catherine snapped, "I thought you wanted to help with this! Paul's finally got the photos. You almost missed the unveiling."

She felt terrible when she saw Sara flinch and go pale. "I'm sorry," Sara repeated softly, lightly touching Catherine's shoulder. "I'm here now. Let's see what Sam's using for leverage." Her hand trailed down to rest on Catherine's forearm as she took a seat. "How bad are they, Paul?"

"Bad." Was it Catherine's imagination, or had Paul's eyes lingered on Sara's hand? "I looked at them after my last appointment; I thought I could get a start on planning your defense." He opened the envelope and poured the contents onto his desk.

Dozens of images, all of Catherine and Sara together, covered the grained wood. "Son of a bitch." Body nearly numb, Catherine scooted her chair closer and peered at the topmost photo. Her arm was wrapped around a smiling Sara. Their faces were only inches apart.

They looked happy.

They looked like a couple.

"What plan did you come up with?" Sara stared fixedly at the photo in Catherine's hands. "There's nothing here to prove Catherine is a bad influence on Lindsey."

Catherine closed her eyes, head bowed. God, Sara was putting a good face on things. For her, probably. Sara had tried to warn Catherine they weren't prepared to fight Eddie and Sam. Now they didn't have a choice. Giving in to the siren's song of the photo in her hand, Catherine opened her eyes and examined the image.

"You think I've got a plan?" Catherine let Paul's question flow past her. "When Catherine called, I thought Eddie just wanted money again. It wouldn't be the first time. Take a good look at my desk, Ms. Sidle. What do you expect me to tell the judge when she sees these? No one will believe you aren't lovers. If you're lovers, then the lawsuit has merit."

"We aren't lovers," Sara answered. Her voice was so flat and yet so forceful, Catherine took notice. "Believe it, and find a way to make Eddie go away. If you can't do that, we'll go with my original plan. I'll leave."

Catherine knew she wouldn't be able to stop Sara a second time. And, God help her, she wondered if letting Sara leave wasn't the right choice. "That's a last resort." They would go to the Sherriff with her suspicions about Sam first. "Until then, everybody grab a pile of photos. This is the evidence. Does it really bury us? Or can we use it to our advantage? Smiling and standing close together with another woman doesn't make me a bad parent. It makes me a good friend."

"Social Services sent over another box, too." Paul waved a hand at a battered cardboard box next to his desk.

"Photos first." Quoting Grissom, Catherine said, "Examining evidence requires patience and attention. You can't do that if you're distracted by what _could _be in the next room – or the next box." The advice sounded pedantic even though it was accurate. She picked up a small side table and moved it between her chair and Sara's before dropping several handfuls of photos on its surface. "Dig in."

The job was easier if Catherine pretended she was examining crime scene evidence. Did any of the glossy images show signs – even minute ones – of a relationship between the two women featured prominently in most of the scenes? Did the little girl appear unhappy, neglected, or abused?

Her professional detachment wavered for a minute. Lindsey's smile beamed at Sara as they walked toward the park near her school. They'd gone on dozens of picnics since Sara had moved in.

How could anyone seeing this picture doubt they were a family?

Dropping the photo, Catherine randomly chose another. She had Sara pinned against the side of the Tahoe, right index finger pointed threateningly into Sara's face. Both of them were laughing, despite the pose.

How could anyone seeing this picture doubt they were a _perfect_ and _happy_ family?


	59. Chapter 59

Catherine glanced at Sara, wanting to share her insight. Her sudden belief that everything would be fine. She didn't say anything, though, after seeing Sara's grim expression. Sara was looking at the photos, too (albeit another stack), and she clearly didn't share Catherine's optimism. It tempered Catherine's emotions.

"Give me the box, Paul. These are worthless. I've seen more incriminating pictures of Lindsey's school field trips." So she was exaggerating. Catherine figured the levity would do them all good. "You two can worry about the whole smiling and being happy problem. If that's all Eddie and Sam have…" Stopping, Catherine considered that. The pictures didn't show anything that anyone, not even Las Vegas' few conservative judges, to find distasteful.

"We talked about this, Cath." As usual, Sara saw only the worst in their situation. "It's a game of perception. Look at this!" She brandished another shot of them coming out of the lab, not quite touching, just closer than most heterosexual female friends. "I know the truth, and even _I_ think we look like lovers." Her pallor increased so rapidly Catherine stood up, reaching out to support Sara in case she fainted. "Looking like lovers will lose Lindsey." Her eyes were haunted as she stared up at Catherine. "You should have let me leave."

Snatching the photo from Sara, Catherine deliberately examined it closely. She remembered this. It was from just a few days ago as they'd left work to meet Nancy and the kids for a late lunch. Sara had been teasing her, again, about the paperwork tower balanced precariously on the edge of her desk. "If you'd left, we would have looked guilty." It wasn't the same argument Catherine had used to keep Sara in Las Vegas at first. She'd given up on that days ago. "Stop blaming yourself – and me - for keeping you here. We need to move on; concentrate on a strategy." She leveled her fiercest glare at Sara, daring her to continue the argument. When nothing was forthcoming, she hid a smile of triumph and grabbed the second box.

Paul, the coward, was still in his chair, trying not to become part of their increasingly-heated discussion.

"If you don't find anything more risqué in the photos soon, put them back in the envelope and grab some of what's in here." Catherine wasn't above giving orders. In fact, playing the General Card normally got Sara to stop stalling and focus.

It worked like a charm. Sara's glower eased and she nodded. "Yes, Boss," she mocked and then saluted Catherine with the empty manila envelope.

Catherine savored the momentary surge of satisfaction. She sat down, tearing the tape sealing the box off. Digging inside, she expected more envelopes. More folders. Instead, she encountered hard plastic. Placing the box on the floor in front of her, Catherine leaned forward and peered inside. "Looks like we've got some new evidence," she announced. She pulled a clear plastic jewel case out and held it up. "Live and in color."

"Of what? You and me sleeping in separate beds, on different floors?" Sara shook her head. "What the hell is Sam trying to prove, Cath?"

It was exactly what Catherine wanted to know. "Let's take a look and find out."

* * *

For such a simple and logical request, Catherine's comment made Sara's stomach clench. " got a VCR or something, Paul?" Her prayer that he didn't went unanswered.

"Yes, of course," Paul mumbled. Climbing to his feet, he dodged their chairs and made his way to the back of the office. He opened the door of an oak cabinet along the back wall. "Here. We can use this." Paul stepped back, revealing a flat-panel television and expensive video equipment.

Perfect. Sara hid a grimace as Catherine tossed the first DVD to Paul. Responding to the little voice in her head screaming that this was a bad idea, she inched her chair closer to Catherine and took her hand. Then she braced for the show.

Even expecting the worst, Sara wasn't ready. She watched, in horror, as full-color images of herself and Catherine emerged from Sam's private sanctum at the Rampart, nearly arm in arm. For the next few frames, she watched a silent movie as they laughed. Watched Catherine blush and cover her face with one hand as the other people in the casino gaped at them.

She couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about, but she smiled. She had to. Catherine didn't often look as cute as she did in the video, all flushed and off-balance.

Her smile ended in a rush, though, when the sound suddenly came on.

"_All those people." _Catherine's voice blared from the television._ "My God, they won't even care if they win the jackpot. All they'll be talking about with the folks back home is the pair of dykes discussing insemination methods in the hallway." _

Real Catherine's hand trembled in Sara's. The photos had been bad. The video… The video was going to bury them. Taken out of context, a context Sara couldn't recall now, their conversation was damning. Unable to ask Paul to turn off the playback, she continued to watch.

"_Oh, they won't say anything, Sar." _Catherine was still smiling as she wrapped an arm around Sara's shoulders and pulled her close. Her head dipped until she appeared to be nibbling on Sara's ear._ "Haven't you heard? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."_

"Oh my God." The words slipped out. Sara pressed her lips together belatedly, holding back more comments. Catherine needed her to be strong. To be positive of their success – because Catherine's ghostly pale face said she had lost her last shred of hope. "I knew all that talk of marriage and kids was just an act, Cath." It was finally coming back to her. That's what they'd been teasing about in the Rampart, hadn't it? Forcing a smile and a wink, Sara continued. "I don't know why you had to make the home movies, though. If you wanted me to propose, you didn't need the blackmail material…"

Catherine didn't smile – or even acknowledge Sara had spoken.

This required something different then. Sara slowly stood up. "We don't need to see any more, Paul." If they'd had any doubts about Sam's involvement, those had been put to rest by the video. "Start working on a defense," she continued in as normal a voice as possible. "And call me tomorrow morning." Without waiting for him to respond, Sara led (mostly dragged) Catherine from the office.

Their elevator ascent to the parking garage was completed in total silence.

Sara still held Catherine's hand; she glanced at the other woman every few seconds. Only the occasional eye-blink and the pulse fluttering Catherine's neck showed she was alive. "Cath…" Sara broke the stillness in the elevator as the doors slid open.

"Not now," Catherine said tightly. "Not now. I… I can't…"

If things had been different, if Catherine wasn't on the verge of losing her daughter because of their imagined relationship, Sara would have pulled her into a hug. But things weren't different. With a nod, she released Catherine's hand and stepped away. "I understand," she said. Catherine needed space and time to come to grips with the situation.

Sara would respect that. They didn't need to talk about things anymore, anyway. A glimmer of an idea had already come to her; she'd tell Catherine about it some other time.

* * *

"Good morning, Sara!" Greg must have been the only one drinking coffee this morning. He bounced around the lab in time to the heavy metal beat blaring from his CD player. "What can I do for you? I've got the blood samples from your case, but the DNA report won't be ready for another forty-eight hours."

Shrugging, Sara leaned a hip against a counter. "No problem," she said. Even though she hadn't shared in Greg's private coffee-bean stash, it was hard to stand still. To stay calm. "I'm not sure you need to run all of them. I went over my notes from the scene last night, and I think I mislabeled one of them."

That earned her a disbelieving stare.

"What?" Sara scowled until Greg looked away. Trust her reputation as a stickler for details to make this harder. "It's all the damned overtime. Do you have any idea how many hours I've put in this month, alone?" Overtime was a good excuse for anything.

Exercising more caution than normal (probably because he knew _exactly_ how many hours Sara had worked), Greg merely strode to another part of the lab and retrieved several sealed bags. "Here you go. Sign for these and make sure the labels are right. I'll run the test in the morning, OK?"

He was being nice. Sara acknowledged that with a heartfelt, "Thanks, Greg." If the results were in fast enough, Grissom wouldn't be too interested in checking the evidence logs. Sara had counted on Greg knowing that – and taking steps to help her prevent it. Her whole plan had hinged on it. "You mind if I take these into the locker?" she asked, referring to the cramped room holding all of the evidence for their current cases. "My office's a disaster. I don't want to make things worse by cross contaminating anything."

She held her breath until Greg said, "Sure. It's pretty quiet back there right now. Everyone has their evidence checked out."

"Great. I won't be long." Sara only needed a few minutes. Her heart pounded as she walked slowly and deliberately down the hall to the evidence locker. As soon as the door closed behind her, though, all traces of slow disappeared. Tossing the evidence bags onto the small table in the room, Sara hurried to one of the locked vaults.

Now that she was here, Sara's emotions thawed. Her unwavering certainty faltered as she tapped in the code and listened to the vacuum-sealed steel door slide open. This was wrong. So very wrong. She hesitated.

No. She had to do this. It was now or never.

Sara held to her resolve. She rifled through the contents of the drawer, taking inventory. Neatly labeled bags held fingerprint cards, hair and fiber samples, and photos. Ignoring the photos for the moment, Sara slipped a carefully wrapped razor blade from her lab coat pocket and slit the red tape on the bag holding the hairs and fibers.

There wasn't much. Sara examined the few items with an expert eye, mental stopwatch calculating how long she'd been in the evidence locker. She had to work fast. Greg would come looking for her if she took too long.

She opened the bag of photos next. Fingerprints wouldn't tell her anything without the AFIS report. The glossy images showed the mangled remains of a bank vault. A cluttered lobby. A body surrounded by a pool of blood. Sara jotted comments on a notebook in tiny, shorthand script, and then removed another item from her pocket.

Using pilfered evidence tape, she carefully, painstakingly, resealed the evidence bags and placed them back into the vault. It closed with a soft thump – in direct contrast to the loud pounding of Sara's heart. She paused a moment. She had to get a grip. Her decision had been made, and she'd just crossed the point of no return. The mental reminder was enough. Sara walked to the table and picked up the blood evidence.

"It must be my lucky day," she told Greg as she returned to his lab. "All tubes present and accounted for, not to mention correctly labeled. Thank God. Grissom would pitch a fit if I spiked a case with some mishandled evidence."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it. That new fingerprint tech didn't lock his computer screen last week and Hodges ratted him out. You'd have thought the world was ending when Grissom showed up."

Any other day, Sara might have enjoyed the banter. It felt nice to socialize; there hadn't been much opportunity for that between her crazy work schedule and the continued preparations for Catherine's court date. "I bet," she murmured. "Thanks for the save, Greggo. I'll treat at the diner as soon as the OT slows down." It was a safe bet that wouldn't be for a while. "I'm running for the door now, though."

"Make it dinner at the Bellagio," Greg pushed with one of his comical eyebrow wiggles. "Now get! Before another call comes in and you pick up another case."

Taking the offered out, Sara did as ordered. She hurried to the locker room to drop off her lab coat. As she walked, she fished out her cell phone and dialed information. "Las Vegas, Nevada. The Rampart hotel and casino," she told the mechanical voice on the line and waited for the search results.

It took only seconds, and then the phone began to ring on the other line.

"Rampart Hotel Guest Services. This is Shawna. How may I help you?" Shawna sounded entirely too happy and perky. Either that, or Sara hadn't regained as much calm and control as she'd thought.

"Sam Braun, please. Tell him it's Sara Sidle calling," Sara responded coolly.


	60. Chapter 60

"Mr. Braun isn't available," Shawna predictably announced. Of course he wasn't. Not to the thousands of people who called the Rampart on a daily basis.

Sara wasn't deterred. "He'll talk to me. Tell him it's about…" Damn. Mentioning the bank heist wasn't smart. She didn't want anyone other than Sam to know the real reason for her call. "Mr. Braun asked me to do some work for him. Financial work." It was as close to the truth as Sara dared.

"One moment, please." Classical music replaced Shawna. Sara listened as she left the locker room and headed for the door.

She managed to get all the way outside and into her Tahoe before Sam came on the line. "Ms. Sidle?" His cultured charm turned Sara's stomach. "What can I do for you? Is Catherine alright?"

Please. Did anyone buy that act? Speaking brusquely, Sara kept their conversation to business. "I have what you want on your case. Tell me where you want to meet – and make it public." She wasn't afraid to let Sam know she didn't trust him.

There was a long pause, and Sara gripped the phone tightly.

"Mr. Braun, I don't have a lot of time or patience. If you've changed your mind…" Sara pushed, knowing Sam didn't trust _her_, either.

"No. No, I haven't," he responded. "I was merely thinking of a rendezvous location. You want people, and I don't want anything connected with me or the Rampart." Sam took an audible breath. Maybe, just maybe, Sara had shaken his cool. "Outside the Reading Room at Mandalay Place in one hour."

"Done." Sara didn't waste time worrying now that things were in motion. "But don't panic if I'm late; I'm still at the lab." She'd make an effort to be on time, though. Pulling out of the parking space, Sara continued. "Just so you understand, I'm doing this for Catherine and Linds. I hand over what I have…" Sam was a player; he should be able to fill in the blank.

He did; Sam was simply hedging his bets, too. "We can discuss this when I see the information."

"That's not good enough." Sara wanted promises. "I'm risking my job." Probably Catherine's, too, if the Sheriff found out what she'd done. "You like what you see and I expect a call from Family Services."

"I'll see you soon," Sam answered without giving Sara what she wanted.

* * *

The phone rang, startling Catherine as she set the final dirty plate into the dishwasher. "Hello?" Cradling the handset between her cheek and shoulder, she closed the appliance and picked up a dish towel.

Paul sounded unusually jovial when he spoke. "Catherine, it's Paul. Are you sitting down?"

"Do I need to?" The answer didn't matter. Happy lawyers weren't the norm, and Catherine felt lightheaded with burgeoning hope. Dropping the towel back onto the counter, she gripped the cool, smooth edge tightly.

"I don't want to get your hopes up." Paul next words belied that statement. "Ted Goggle just called. Eddie wants to meet and discuss the custody arrangement."

If he wanted that… "Paul?" It was all Catherine could manage around the lump in her throat. The kitchen disappeared behind a curtain of tears. Please, _please_ let this be over, she begged silently. "What about the lawsuit?"

The tears spilled over when Paul answered. "I'm sorry, Catherine. Goggle wouldn't commit to backing down. Not yet. We'll have to wait until after the meeting to see if he'll play ball on the suit." He cleared his throat. "It's going to be up to you and Eddie. You know that, right?"

Right. "Yeah." Vowing to rip Eddie limb from limb when she saw him, Catherine wiped her eyes and straightened from the counter. "Keep prepping for court, Paul. Eddie's never been about compromise, and I'm sure he thinks he's got all the cards this time. He won't offer any custody deal I can live with. We both know that." In fact, this whole thing could be one more way to push Catherine to the edge.

"I haven't stopped, Catherine," Paul said softly.

"Thanks." Catherine disconnected the call and dialed Sara's number immediately. The phone rang only once before Sara answered. "Hey." Whatever the eventual outcome, Catherine wanted to share the news. "We may have a break. Paul called."

Not even road noise filtering through the phone hid Sara's relief. "Thank God. I…" Sara broke off abruptly. "What kind of break?" Apparently, Sara was afraid to hope, too.

Relaying Paul's good news, Catherine finished with, "Will you be home soon? I want to take Lindsey out. Celebrate. Well," she corrected. "Not celebrate, exactly. It's not really over, you know." The reminder was for both of them. "Just get out and relax for a change."

"I've got to drop off some evidence, Cath," Sara said. "I'd love to go with you, though. How about I finish up here and give you a call? Maybe meet you and Linds for lunch at our park?"

Their park. Smiling even though Sara couldn't see her, Catherine remembered their first lunch as a family. "As long as you promise not to run screaming again," she teased.

"Sorry. No promises." Sara had come so far. Catherine couldn't detect even the slightest quiver in her voice. "Look, I'm pulling in now. This shouldn't take long. I'll call when I'm on the road. Hell, I'll hit McDonald's on the way to the park, too. We'll all have Happy Meals."

"Thanks, Sar. Tell Gris I said hi." Catherine hung up the phone to Sara's grumble. The day was looking up. Humming, she finished her kitchen clean up and trotted up the stairs. If she hurried, there was time for a shower before leaving for Lindsey's school. And, even though they were _not _celebrating, she'd pick up an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen to go with the hamburgers and fries.

Lindsey bounced out of the Tahoe as if she'd already eaten the entire cake – plus a few dozen candy bars as a chaser. Stifling a yawn in response, Catherine climbed out of the vehicle more sedately and scanned the park. She spotted Sara lounging at the same picnic table they'd shared that first visit.

So Catherine wasn't the only one remember that day.

"You didn't break any driving laws on the way, did you?" Catherine asked as she strolled up. After putting the cake down, she took the Happy Meal box Sara held out and sat with her back resting against the table. "Because I _know_ what traffic's like close to the lab this time of day. I should have had time to wear Linds out before you got here."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sara open her own box, head bent over the thin cardboard. "There might have been a light and siren combination." Pulling the hamburger out, Sara slowly unwrapped the cellophane wrapper. "I wanted to get all that running out of the way before lunch. Lindsey told me last week that exercise after eating is bad for digestion."

"I said it makes you throw up," Lindsey corrected around a mouthful of fries.

"That, too." Chuckling, Sara mimicked Catherine's pose against the table and took a bite. "How was your day off, Cath?"

Until the phone rang in the kitchen, the day had sucked. No work or not. "It was fan-tas-tic," Catherine enunciated. "And now I get to spend the afternoon with my girls." The first day they'd been together in weeks that she hadn't spent the entire time worrying about losing Lindsey.

The thought dimmed Catherine's happiness for a second. They weren't out of the woods yet. Then, tilting her head up, she let the sun wash the lingering fear away. It wasn't the end. However, there was light at the end of the tunnel. It was enough for now.

"I'm finished with lunch, Mommy. Can I go play on the swings?" Lindsey asked, proving again that children had more energy than adults.

So much for the cake. Catherine should have known a burger was more than enough for Lindsey. Waving a hand, she released Lindsey from the table. "How about you, Sara? Want to go play on the swings?" Sara didn't say anything. "Or eat a piece of cake?" Still no answer. "Sar?" Catherine prodded. She glanced over and saw the younger woman frowning fiercely at the tiny toy from her meal. "Didn't you want the Barbie Stopwatch?"

"What?" Sara's head came up, her frown transferring to Catherine.

"The toy." Catherine pointed at it. "You were giving it the Death Glare." She tilted her head. Something was wrong. She could sense it. And that fact was confirmed when Sara hurriedly looked away. "I thought we were celebrating. Did Gil give you a hard time for leaving? You've already worked 80 hours this week; he can spare you for an afternoon."

Sara leaned forward until her elbows rested on her knees. "I didn't talk to Gil. I just left."

When there was no further explanation, Catherine turned to face Sara, drawing her right knee onto the picnic table bench. "Now guilt is eating at you, huh?"

* * *

"You bet," Sara answered truthfully; although, her agreement had nothing to do with leaving the lab before the end of her double shift. God, how had her life gotten so complicated? She hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to keep a secret from Catherine. Not even her meeting with Sam Braun had been this tough.

A warm hand landed on her knee. "Hey, it'll be OK. Gil won't fire you for taking the afternoon." Catherine smiled and winked, obviously trying to pull Sara from her bad mood. "If he did that, I'd be out of a job, too. I mean, I took today _and _tomorrow off."

Playing along, Sara raised her head. "Cath, Gil can't fire you. You do too much of his job for him. Me? I'm expendable." The comment almost derailed her effort to act normal. Sara silently acknowledged she _was _expendable; it was why she'd contacted Sam on her own. If the deal blew up…

"I don't think so, and my opinion's the only one that counts," Catherine said firmly.

"That's the trouble with you, Cath. It's all about you." Teasing got easier as Sara fell into their usual pattern of poke, counter-poke. "Sometimes, it's about me, too. And Grissom," she added. "And Lindsey."

Catherine gave a dramatic sigh. "I'll give you Lindsey. Not Gil. That man would take over our lives if we gave him the opportunity." She stood up and stretched.

It was a testament to Sara's inner turmoil that she barely noticed the way Catherine's shirt rode up to reveal a strip of bare skin or the tightening of the material across Catherine's chest.

"Come on. If I can't tempt you with the swings or cake, maybe the ducks will do the trick." Holding out her hand, Catherine waited for Sara to stand up. "I'm not letting you sit here alone, Sar. You know me better than that."

Yes, Sara did. Catherine was stubborn. So stubborn, she'd probably stand just like that all day. Or until Sara gave in. "Fine. Ducks it is. Just make sure the swan stays away from me," Sara grumbled as she took Catherine's hand and stood, too. "The damned thing tried to bite me the last time we were here."

"Poor Sara." There was no sympathy in Catherine's response. "Grouchy and persecuted to boot. What am I going to do with you, honey?"

Leaning into the arm Catherine wrapped around her waist, Sara held back her automatic answer, _Forgive me, Cath. _


	61. Chapter 61

Sara continued to struggle with her guilt and a growing need to confess everything to Catherine. She'd known what going to Sam might mean for their relationship. No. There was no relationship. The arm around her waist; the hand tucked into her left pocket. Those conveyed friendship from the very _straight _Catherine.

"My God. What's going on in that head of yours?" Catherine said, pulling them to a stop and turning Sara around until they faced each other. She held Sara in place, keeping her hands firmly on Sara's hips. "I can almost hear the voices up there fighting."

"I'm fine," Sara protested automatically.

She shouldn't have bothered. "Honey, we deal with liars of all kinds every day. I may not be the team's best or brightest, but I _can _tell you're not fine." Catherine peered intently at Sara, who felt her cheeks heat at the accurate assessment. "We've been through too much for this. Tell me what's wrong!"

Looking away, Sara realized she should have known this would happen. Catherine had a gift for ferreting out the truth, and she'd always been able to sense Sara's feelings. "Cath…" The name slipped out on a sigh.

"Sara…" Exasperation and fondness, not mockery, filled the deliberate echo. Catherine moved a step closer and went up on her toes until she and Sara were eye to eye. About to plead a second time, she noticed Sara's flush and felt her attempts to pull away. They were so close together that she felt Sara's breath puff against her face in rapid bursts.

A shiver worked its way up Catherine's spine.

Oh, damn. Catherine's heels hit the ground at the same time the truth hit home. She was in love with Sara. "Sara," she said again, wanting to share the discovery, the pure emotion, but the words wouldn't come. Hands clenching on Sara's hips as she hunted for where to start, Catherine got caught in a troubled gaze and froze. This wasn't the time for admissions of the heart. She had to help Sara. "Come on, honey. Let's go sit down. Linds will be running around for a while yet, and you look like you could use a rest."

There was some initial resistance as Catherine steered them toward a shaded bench at the near-side of the lake. Pushing Sara gently onto the cool metal, Catherine gave the other woman a chance to regroup and stretched. "If I'm honest, _I _could use a rest, too. The overtime's too much for me anymore." Leg pressed lightly against Sara's, she finally sat down. "Or maybe I just don't like all the time away from Lindsey anymore. This lawsuit's made me reevaluate a lot of things."

"Me, too." Sara quirked her lips slightly. "When push comes to shove, family is all that matters. I understand those perps now, you know? The ones who kill to protect their kids or spouses."

Catherine was learning. She didn't mention Sara's mother and the death of her father, didn't remind Sara of the circumstances surrounding her mother's actions. Instead, she leaned back and stretched her arm along the top slat of the bench so her fingers had full access to the fine hairs at the back of Sara's neck. Goose bumps erupted under her fingertips and swept down and out of sight under Sara's shirt collar. Answering tingles tickled Catherine's fingers, reigniting her shiver. Sucking in a deep, slow breath, she ignored her burgeoning arousal and focused on convincing Sara it was _her _idea to talk about whatever was troubling her. "Mmm," she murmured encouragingly. _Tell me_! Her mental voice wasn't so quiet or coaxing. It demanded answers – now.

Her patience paid off. Sara continued to ramble. "I've never seen anyone like you, Cath. The way you are with Lindsey. You care. Really care, not just pretend when people are around."

Now the breath simply caught in Catherine's throat and the soothing surface of the pond blurred.

"When Sam tried to bully you that morning…" Sara broke off and frowned fiercely. "I wanted to push him right out of that stupid window," she said so seriously that Catherine was stunned – and then amused. "I should have. He wouldn't have been able to go after you and Linds if I had."

It was finally time to intercede. "You'd look terrible in orange," Catherine joked, hoping to break the increasingly tense atmosphere. Then, responding to the vulnerability in Sara's expression, she sobered. "And I'd be heartbroken, Sar. You're family now. Sam's a bastard, and he recruited another bastard, Eddie the Ex, to make me do what he wanted. But he won't win, Sara. Because _this _family doesn't have to resort to threats and tricks to win. We'll do this the right way, and Sam can rot in prison for the rest of his life. Or not. I don't care as long as we're still together."

Well, that certainly wasn't the way _that _was supposed to come out. Catherine cursed her big mouth. She'd vowed not to say anything about her new feelings. In the same breath, though, she watched Sara and waited for her reaction.

The wait was long enough to make Catherine's lungs burn from oxygen deprivation. It was long enough to make her afraid and her chest ache. "Together," Sara finally whispered the word so softly Catherine barely heard it. "I don't think you'll want me to stay…"

Oh, Catherine wanted Sara to stay. Stay and move out of the guest room. In keeping with her slow and careful approach to anything emotional-related, though, she merely inched closer on the bench and jostled Sara. "You'll stay. I'm addicted to the kitchen and childcare help now. No way can I find all that in one package anywhere else."

Sara didn't smile at the teasing. In fact, Catherine watched her face set in an even deeper frown.

The day dimmed suddenly despite the brilliant sunlight until the park seemed as dark as night. Had Catherine misread things? Did Sara _not _want her? Catherine had made the assumption Sara felt more than desire, but… Dear God. What if she'd been entirely wrong, and Sara didn't even want to stay with her and Lindsey? Very slowly, muscles and joints moving woodenly, Catherine put a few inches between them. "Sara." It was worth one more try. She'd never cared enough to fight for Eddie. She cared too much for Sara _not _to fight. "I want you to stay. Lindsey wants you to stay." Sara loved Lindsey; Catherine knew that. Lindsey was her ace in the hole, and she didn't hesitate to use it. "Nothing's going to change that. Not Sam. Not Eddie. Not even Gil and the Sheriff and the damned rules will change that."

Still watching Sara's expression, Catherine faced a decision. She could stop there and let Sara continue to believe there was nothing more between them than friendship. Or she could take a leap of faith.

The decision required no thought. Catherine slid off the bench and seized Sara's hand. "_Nothing _would make me ask you to leave, Sara." The darkness faded in and out just like Catherine's hope as she said tremulously, "I love you, Sara."

Sara stared blankly back.

Afraid she hadn't made her point or that Sara misunderstood, Catherine tried again. "I love you." Then it hit her. Sara probably thought she meant love in a friendship sense. "Not like a friend," she clarified in a rush. "Like… love, love." Yeah, that was better.

The blank stare had given way to a few rapid blinks of Sara's lashes. Catherine's lack of finesse with words had Sara looking as if she'd been hit in the head with a two-by-four.

This was crazy! Catherine had come too far to back off now. And, knowing Sara, if she finally realized just what Catherine had admitted, she'd run all the way to San Francisco. It might come to that later; for now, though, caution was not part of the game plan. Releasing one of Sara's hands, she leaned in and stroked a finger over Sara's lips – and followed that touch with a light, gentle kiss.

Sara started and her muscles tensed. Finally, as if the continued pressure of the kiss flicked a switch, she surged forward. Her mouth opened slightly, enough to invite Catherine in for more.

A victory whoop would be crass and hard to manage through the kiss. Catherine contented herself with an inner end zone dance and took what Sara offered. Flicking her tongue over Sara's lips and into her warm mouth, she stroked Sara's tongue. The soft, guttural moan that vibrated through Sara was yet another measure of success. Catherine could feel Sara gripping the hand she still clenched. The hand pulled her in, a silent plea for more.

And it was exactly what Catherine wanted, too. Just… not here. Not now. Not in a park filled with children, parents, and a private investigator's camera lens. With a final nip to Sara's bottom lip, she drew back but didn't relinquish all physical contact. She remained on her knees with her chest resting against the front of Sara's legs.

"Love, love?" Sara mocked in a gravelly voice. "I think you need to be more specific, Cath. Gris would be so disappointed in you."

Afraid to move and destroy the moment, Catherine let her smile and shrug speak for her.

Even that little movement was too much. Sara frowned and shifted until she sat adjacent to Catherine and they no longer touched. The separation was almost painful, and dread rushed to overcome the previous euphoria. "This is a bad idea, Cath."

The only thing keeping Catherine from all-out panic was the lack of conviction in Sara's voice. The protest was pro forma; Sara's reminder to them both of the threat to Catherine and Lindsey. It wasn't an indication, she told herself, of Sara's disinterest. "No, it's not. I love you, Sara." It was freeing to say, and she enjoyed Sara's shy smile and slight flush in response. "We aren't doing anything wrong. Hell." Catherine laughed sardonically. "We aren't even doing anything new, if Sam and Eddie can be believed."

* * *

Reeling from the kiss and the words of love and Catherine's boundless confidence, Sara let emotion rule. She grabbed Catherine and kissed her, hard and fast. Energy burned through her until her skin felt tight with it. She wanted to run. To scream her sudden joy to the world.

Reality burst the bubble of her dream when Linsdey's voice chirped from nearby. "Mommy, will Sara be moving into your room now?"

Catherine's mouth worked to form words and her skin nearly matched the red-gold glory of her hair. "Honey, I… Sara…" Great. The Great Mother Figure was broken, leaving Sara to find an answer.

"I'd like that, Linds," she said with complete honesty. That same honesty compelled her to continue. "But it isn't that simple." God, it was anything except simple. Her heart, once racing with need from Catherine's kiss, now slowed to a heavy thud as she faced Lindsey and the specter of her earlier meeting with Sam.

With childlike logic, Lindsey disagreed. "Yes, it is. My friend Josh has two daddies and he says _they_ stay in the same room. Mommy's room is way big enough for all your books, but I bet she'd let you keep them where they are if you want."

Swallowing against a burning lump, Sara tried again. "Linds, wouldn't it bother you if I moved to your mom's room? What about your dad?" She felt more than saw the way Catherine stiffened at the question. They had never told Lindsey about the lawsuit or that Lindsey might end up in Eddie's custody.

"Daddy has lots of different girlfriends, Sara, and they all stay in his room." Lindsey skipped up to the bench and hopped into Sara's lap. "I like you more than any of them. You don't smell funny and yell at me when I don't stay in my room."


	62. Chapter 62

At least Lindsey didn't think Sara smelled. That was good. Stifling a completely inappropriate laugh, Sara nodded solemnly instead. "I'm glad those showers helped. I'd hate for my nickname to be Stinky Sara. Grissom wouldn't let me go to crime scenes or anything."

Lindsey rolled her eyes. "Uncle Gil's nice, Sara. He'd probably just teach you about soap and stuff."

This time, Sara couldn't hold back her chuckle – and Catherine didn't help the situation by joining in.

Planting her hands on her hips, Lindsey glared at both of them in a sure sign she didn't think _anything _she'd said was funny. Not even remotely. "So, are you moving in?" Despite the frown on her face, Lindsey's kind heart showed through when she continued. "I can help carry things. Or move Mom's shoes out of the closet. She's got a lot of those, you know."

Sara was smart enough to let that comment pass. "If your Mom and I decide I should share her room, I promise you can help, kiddo." Giving in to euphoria, she jumped up from the bench and grabbed Lindsey around the waist. A shriek, followed by giggles, erupted near her ear as she swung the little girl onto her shoulders. "Let's go before we say something about your mom we can't take back. She gets cranky when we make fun of her."

With a bounce in her step, Sara started for their abandoned picnic table and the forgotten cake. Sugar sounded just right.

* * *

The house was achingly quiet with Lindsey tucked in bed. With a tired sigh, Catherine trotted down the stairs and headed down the hallway to Sara's room. They needed to talk, to figure out what came next, because Catherine wasn't going to ignore what had happened this afternoon. She tapped resolutely on the partially-closed door and waited.

Seconds later, the door popped open. "Cath?" Sara asked softly. "Something wrong?" Opening the door farther, she peered out. "Lindsey having trouble falling asleep?"

"No." Suddenly, the desire to talk was supplanted by something far more carnal. With her hair rumpled and her voice rough from sleep, Sara looked sexy. Catherine's hands clenched on the need to reach out and touch. She took a step closer until her chest brushed Sara's. "What about you? Do you need some help sleeping?" Catherine's voice rasped from her throat even as she wanted to groan at the pathetically cheesy come-on line.

Sara's sleepy eyes widened and then dropped to half mast. A slow smile tilted her lips. "What did you have in mind?"

Something completely X-rated, Catherine internally acknowledged. Her hands lifted until they swept Sara's hair away from her face. "Nothing, if it's not what you want, too," she made herself say. As if to belie her statement, she gently maneuvered Sara back into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. "If you _do _want…" Her voice trailed off and her hands dropped to her sides. Sara would have to make the first move.

"I've always wanted, Cath. You know that." For the first time, Sara didn't back away from the admission. She met Catherine's eyes and continued. "I'm a lesbian, and you're beautiful." Moving back another two steps, she stopped with her knees resting against the foot of the bed. "This is about you. Dancing in a bar, fending off drunken men, teasing a few women. It's not the same as making love. Are you sure this is where you want to be?"

Sara's words were a gently-delivered challenge. Catherine picked up the verbal gauntlet and walked forward. It took only one shove to push Sara onto the bed. "Does this convince you?" She reached down and tugged the hem of her shirt from her pants, lifting it over her head before dropping it carelessly on the floor. Her bra, pants, and underwear followed. In less than a minute, she stood naked in front of Sara. "Or is there some other proof you need?"

As if struck mute, Sara simply shook her head. A flush painted her cheeks and extended to just below her throat.

"If you change your mind," Catherine murmured teasingly. God, this was fun. Her tension eased. She should have expected this. Sara didn't trust her. Didn't trust Catherine's declaration of love. Catherine would have to be the aggressor today. She put her right knee on the bed. Sara's hip pressed into Catherine's inner thigh, her soft pajama shorts brushing Catherine's pubic hair. Just that small touch caused her pelvic muscles to flutter. "Just let me know and I'll stop."

Right. Like she could back away now. Catherine's hands rose without conscious instruction to cup Sara's breasts. Her fingers scraped lightly at first over the soft cotton and the tiny swell of nipples beneath. Then, as the flesh firmed, Catherine increased the pressure. A satisfied smile broke out when Sara arched into her touch. "I'm right where I want to be, Sar." They were past teasing. Catherine dropped lower, straddling Sara's thigh. "I want to be with you. I don't care what anyone thinks. I love you."

Sara's body stilled.

She must need more convincing, and Catherine vowed to give Sara exactly what she needed. Using her body weight to advantage, she leaned forward until they toppled onto the mattress. That's where here mission got sidetracked. Sidetracked by the feel of Sara's breasts pressed into hers and the warm brush of Sara's breath over her cheek. Catherine watched Sara's eyes dilate until only a thin ring of brown circled the black iris. She was so beautiful.

No. Catherine wasn't getting distracted; she was going to do this right. She wasn't going to rush their first time together. This wasn't a tawdry one-night stand in the back room of a strip club.

Lowering her head slowly, Catherine planted feather-light kisses along Sara's jaw. Her throat. Then she sucked the smooth, warm skin over Sara's pulse point. Sara's stillness disappeared. Her head pushed back until her chin pointed to the ceiling and her hips rose and fell restlessly. Hmm. A hot spot? Catherine hid her smile of triumph by laving the slight brush she'd left with her tongue.

Sara's heart pounded beneath the skin. Faster and faster with each swipe. Catherine reveled in yet another sign of Sara's excitement. She leaned up for a second and nipped Sara's left earlobe before wiggling down the bed. Not wanting to break the mood or give Sara time to recover, Catherine didn't waste time trying to strip Sara of her sleep shirt or shorts. Instead, she slipped one hand beneath the hem of the shirt and simply pushed it over Sara's breasts.

Catherine was fairly certain the pebbled nipples weren't a reaction to the air conditioning. Just in case, though, she circled the right nub with her tongue and squeezed and pulled on the left until it hardened further. Sara bucked and her breathing grew ragged. With each exhale, she whispered, "Cath…God…_please_."

A quick glance showed that Sara's hands gripped the comforter so tightly her knuckles showed white.

"Please what, Sara?" Catherine used her hands on Sara's breasts and nipped a trail to her belly button, stopping just long enough circle it and blow along the saliva left behind. Goose pimples rewarded her efforts. Another hot spot to add to the list. Not pausing to enjoy her success, Catherine continued. Moving with a little more speed and deliberation, she slid along the final few inches of Sara's leg and dropped onto her knees in front of the bed. Hands on Sara's hips, she dragged the other woman closer to the edge of the mattress, planted Sara's feet on her shoulders, and yanked Sara's sleep shorts until they passed over her head and stopped at Sara's ankles. The tightly stretched material pressed into Catherine and kept her bound to Sara.

The only response to her action was non-verbal as Sara's hands left the comforter and fastened with desperate strength in Catherine's hair. There was a clear message as Sara shoved against Catherine. Of course, Catherine obliged by stiffening her neck and shoulders and controlling her descent back to Sara's body. The first hint of trimmed pubic hair tickled her lips as she sucked them into her mouth and tugged gently. A hint of salt and musk tantalized Catherine when her lips encountered the liquid dampening the hair closer to Sara's core.

She paused there, letting Sara feel the weight and warmth of her tongue and breath – and was met with a new flood of lubrication. Thanks to Catherine's inelegant attempt to undress Sara, her access to Sara's labia was limited. She had to content herself with separating the delicate and drenched folds with her nose, lips, and tongue rather than her hands. Once inside the protective barrier, Catherine was surrounded by Sara. Her scent. Her taste. She dove deeper, driving her tongue inside Sara.

After several minutes, Catherine finally found a rhythm, helped by the flexing of Sara's legs and the feel of her heels on her shoulders. She managed to press her nose against Sara's clit.

"Cath!" Sara's silence disappeared with the ragged cry. It spurred Catherine on. Ignoring the stiffness in her jaw and the drag of tired muscles at the base of her tongue, she continued her oral assault. She leaned forward another inch. The new angle gave her more leverage and added more pressure to Sara's clit. The bundle of nerve swelled at the increased contact and Sara's hands drove Catherine even deeper into Sara's core. She could feel Sara's thighs quiver.

Then Sara bucked, ass off the bed, and froze for a long second. She stayed there until Catherine pulled her head back and gently took Sara's clit between her teeth. Then it was all she could do to hang on as Sara writhed and twitched. Seconds later, Sara dropped back to the mattress and her feet slipped off Catherine's shoulders. Only the sleep shorts still looped around Catherine's neck prevented them from falling to the floor.

Listening to Sara's rapid breathing, Catherine wiped her cheeks and lips on the inside of Sara's legs before ducking under the bunched cotton shorts. She let Sara's leg dangle over the end of the bed and crawled up to take Sara into her arms. "In case you missed the moral of the story," she said tenderly, "I love you, and I don't care who knows it." Including you, Catherine finished silently.

Sara's eyes, which had been closed when Catherine cuddled close, opened. Hmmm. Catherine could get used to that dazed and vulnerable expression. "I don't know, Cath."

Catherine stiffed. What the hell did Sara need from her?

"You might have to repeat the lesson a few times. I could have missed a moral or two." Sara's tiny grin sent the air rushing out of Catherine's lungs in an audible whoosh.

"Bitch." Letting the tension flow away, Catherine drew Sara closer and rested her cheek against Sara's hair. In direct opposition to her previous comment, she sighed and murmured, "I want stay right here forever." Sara felt so good in her arms and she wasn't rushing to get out of bed like Eddie. In fact Sara had wiggled closer and turned so that one thigh nestled between Catherine's. Even the steady pulse of Catherine's simmering arousal felt right. Comforting.

When Sara's lips brushed Catherine's throat, the sense of homecoming grew. "I want to, too." The words were so soft that Catherine wasn't sure she'd heard Sara correctly. Not until Sara said, "I love you, Cath. You and Lindsey. I want us to be a family."

Warm tears slid against Catherine's skin. "Oh, honey." Hugging Sara tightly, she rocked them as Sara shook with silent sobs. "I've got you now, and I'm never letting you go. I promise." She whispered soft reassurances as the sobs grew louder, racking Sara's slight frame. It took a long time before Sara went limp and quiet. "Better?"

Sara's head shook a definite negative. "Even The Hangover hurt less." The normally husky voice was raspy and blunted from residual congestion. "You shouldn't have taken off your shirt. It would have been the perfect Kleenex."

* * *

Catherine laughed, and the carefree sound made Sara smile – until she remembered her meeting with Sam. The guilt and regret she'd managed to stifle for a short while returned with a vengeance. God, she'd screwed up. How was she going to make things right without losing everything?


	63. Chapter 63

Leaning back in the rental car seat, Sara stifled a yawn. Overtime at the lab was never ending; she'd already put in a full week and it was only Wednesday. Her special project wasn't making the situation better.

Sunlight poured into the car, heating quickly as it passed through the windows. Sweat slicked Sara's skin and dampened her T-shirt. The heavy camera grew slippery where her hands gripped the metal casing. "Come on," she implored softly. She'd been sitting here for over an hour. If she didn't get what she needed soon, Catherine would start to worry and call.

For once, Sara's luck held. Eddie exited the building at the far end of the parking lot across the street, and Sara automatically raised the camera. The shutter whirred and clicked as a second figure stepped from behind the only other car in the lot. With a quick glance around, Eddie walked forward, hand outstretched.

With a pleased smile, Sara caught their entire exchange in digital perfection.

The scene was over in less than a minute. Eddie ducked back into the club, and the other man drove off in his shiny Benz. Sara waited until the car had disappeared down the road before climbing out of her own vehicle. This was going to end today. Right now. Opening her cell phone, she dialed Catherine.

"Hey! Are you on your way home?" She could hear the smile in Catherine's voice. "Did Gil finally realize you had to sleep sometime?"

If only. Sara grimaced as she remembered his shock and displeasure when she'd refused to stay and wait for the lab results for one of her many cases. "Nah. I finally grew a pair and told him I was leaving." Not even the upcoming confrontation could stop her grin when Catherine laughed, but the expression faded quickly. "I'm running an errand now and then I've got to go back to the lab."

Silence greeted her comment.

"Can you meet me there in a couple of hours?" Sara persevered against the growing chill on the other end of the line. "It's important, Cath."

"You're going to owe me," Catherine warned. "I had breakfast in bed all planned for when you got home."

Guilt – and a strong desire to be nestled next to Catherine in their large bed – dragged at Sara. "Please. I really need your help with this one. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." After all the recent lies, it felt good to finally tell the truth. Even if the truth spelled the end of her relationship with Catherine. "I…I've got to go. Will you meet me?"

Damn Catherine and her emotional radar. "What's wrong, honey?" The voice. The support. The _love_.

For a minute, Sara nearly spilled all her secrets. Sucking in a deep breath, she choked out, "At the lab, Cath. I promise. I'll explain everything then." And pray her world didn't crumble. With Catherine's soft and worried agreement ringing in her ear, Sara closed the phone and trotted to the front entrance of the club.

It was dark inside, fitting the seedy feeling and the smell of desperation and sex that was probably ground into the very walls. Not wanting to draw too much attention from the handful of employees and patrons, Sara paid the cover charge and kept her badge and gun hidden beneath the tail of her jacket. Eddie was easy to find, camped out at a table against the stage with a drink in hand. Sara spared a second to wish he'd had the stupidity to snort his latest stash in the open. She wasn't Mob-trained. Being a bully-boy, no matter how good the end result, wasn't Sara's cup of tea.

Keeping a mental image of Catherine and Lindsey firmly in mind, she wended between the tables. "Mind if I join you?" she asked as she dropped into the other chair at Eddie's tiny table.

He looked at her blankly. Obviously, Eddie hadn't bothered to look at the photos of her that Sam had paid for. He didn't appear to recognize her.

Even better. This would give Sara a few minutes to lay the groundwork before Eddie figured out who she was and exactly what she had in mind. "You and I have some business, Eddie." Leaning closer, she lowered her voice and let a hint of anger past her control. "I'm going to give you a job, and you're going to do it. Free of charge."

"Who the hell are you?" Eddie hadn't learned to throttle his aggression. Rising half out of his chair, he loomed over the table and Sara.

Loser. "I'm your new boss. Sit down." God, it felt good to see the shock in his eyes, to watch Eddie collapse into the chair on command. "You have a deal with Sam Braun. He keeps you in booze, bimbos, and drugs."

Eddie's splutter of outrage and denial would have looked good in a cartoon. "Sam's a friend of my wife."

"Your wife?" If Sara had any lingering doubts about her mission, they all went out the window in a flood of righteous rage. "Catherine isn't your wife!" she snapped. Her hands fisted on the table to keep from reaching for Eddie. "In case you've forgotten, you're divorced." A flicker of movement behind Eddie caught Sara's eye. A waitress, heading their way. Sara bit off the rest of her comment and leaned casually back in her chair. She couldn't risk causing a scene.

Luckily, the nearly-naked waitress wobbled by in her impossibly high heels and didn't stop at their table.

The few seconds were just enough for Sara to regroup. "From now on, keep your mouth shut and listen." Threats were easier now. "I know about Sam. About the way he's using you to get to Catherine. It stops today. Right now. I've got enough evidence to put you away for the drugs, and if I dig hard enough, I bet I can follow the money straight to Sam." Meeting his eyes, Sara did her best to project her belief in that blatant exaggeration.

Despite the air conditioning in the club, Eddie was sweating now. And fidgeting. She had him. "You said you had a job."

Weak with relief, Sara rode the wave of exhilaration. "It's simple, Eddie. I'm going to get up and walk out of here. As soon as I'm gone, you're going to call Ted Goggle at Family Services and tell him to drop the suit against Catherine. And _then _you're going to call Sam and tell him you're done. You won't be part of his game anymore."

"I can't do that. He'll kill me," Eddie protested in a strained whisper.

He had a point. If Sam was going to these lengths to get information about the case, the stakes were high. Unease skittered through Sara but she brushed it away. Eddie had known the dangers when he accepted the deal with Sam. _Her _only concern had to be Catherine and Lindsey. Her family. "And if you don't, he'll kill you anyway once I turn the evidence over to the DA. At least this way, Lindsey won't remember her father in prison orange." She didn't end with a plea for Eddie to do the right thing. He'd proven over and over that he was incapable of making the right decisions.

Instead, Sara stood and walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the door. She'd done all she could. It was time to head to the lab. To come clean with Catherine.

And to make her own decisions about the future.

* * *

The chair grew increasingly uncomfortable. Sara shifted. And shifted again. Nothing helped. Of course, it might not be the chair's fault. Grissom stared at her. The district attorney _glared _at her.

Sara shifted again.

"Ms. Sidle, do you _any _idea what you've done?" The DA's voice rose, and Sara hoped it didn't leak through the closed door and into the hallway. Although everyone would know the truth eventually, Sara wanted… Ah, no. She didn't _want_ to admit her part in this disaster. She _had_ to. "You tampered with evidence. We have to notify the defense. We'll have to end the investigation into the bank heist _and _Sam Braun."

Absorbing the truth of those words hurt. Sara flinched briefly before squaring her shoulders and meeting Grissom's eyes. Not the DA's. He didn't count. He was only part of this conversation because of his tie to Sam's case. Grissom was a friend. "I know. I knew that when I slit the tape on the evidence bag. But I didn't have a choice. I needed something to keep Catherine from losing Lindsey."

Her words deflated the DA slightly. At least, he didn't appear to have any quick comeback.

"You and Catherine didn't find anything to connect Eddie and Sam?" Grissom asked.

"No," Sara answered the question for the third time since the conversation began. "Nothing." Glancing surreptitiously at the clock on the wall, she calculated the time. Catherine was probably already here, waiting for her and the promised explanation. It was time to wrap this up and find her. "I'm leaving that up to you, Gris." With an astonishing lack of grief or regret, Sara stood and pulled a crumpled letter from her back pocket. "Here's my resignation. I quit," she tacked on in case he was too surprised to understand the initial announcement.

The letter stayed in her hand, poised over Grissom's desk. "Sara…" No longer confused, Grissom sighed deeply. New lines of stress and strain bracketed his mouth. "Are you sure we can't work this out? There has to be a way," he said, and it was unclear if he addressed Sara or the now-silent DA.

Making the decision for him, Sara simply let the letter fall gently onto the pile of open case files littering the desktop. "Even if there was, I wouldn't stay." The joy of the lab had been tarnished. Worse, Sara's trust in her ethics was damaged. Gil _shouldn't _trust her, and Sara ruefully acknowledged that _she_ didn'ttrust herself.

What would Catherine feel?

Frantic movement outside Grissom's office caught her attention. One of the day-shift CSIs dashed down the hallway. Voices filtered through the wall. A second later, the DA's cell phone rang.

Experience said a big case had just hit the lab.

"Gris, let it go," Sara advised softly as the DA jumped out of his chair, phone glued to his ear. "It's over. I screwed up and you can't fix it." She'd had enough time in the last few weeks to make a semblance of peace with this decision. "I'm going to find Catherine and let her know what's going on. Then I'll clear my stuff out of the lab." With a rueful smile, she said, "You'll need to check out the boxes before I load them into the car."

He nodded. "I know." The quiet words were a sign of capitulation. Grissom has finally accepted reality.

Sara turned, mind already grappling with the best way to tell her story to Catherine, but her retreat halted when the DA snapped his fingers to get her attention. When she glanced his way, he held up a finger in a clear gesture to wait. "I'll be at the scene shortly," he said and hung up. His face was set and grim.

Even though she was standing, and not sitting in that uncomfortable chair, Sara shifted on the balls of her feet. The DA hadn't said anything after closing his phone, and the weight of the silence pressed at her.

"That was the Sheriff." He continued to watch Sara. "His deputies are responding to a call from the Rampart."

The Rampart. Sam's hotel. Sara froze mid-shift.

"Eddie Willows just shot Sam Braun," the DA announced.

* * *

Catherine paced Sara's tiny lab. Tension drove her back and forth with increasing speed. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Sara had sounded so odd on the phone, and she'd been anxious all week.

What was the damned woman up to?

And more importantly, how did Catherine stop her? If Sara was back to thoughts of leaving Las Vegas, Catherine vowed to duct tape her to their bed.

For the thousandth time, Catherine checked her watch and then scanned the hallway. If Sara didn't show up soon… On her next circuit across the room, her next check of time and hall, she finally saw Sara. Thank God. The relief was dizzying.

That was her internal explanation (more excuse) for grabbing Sara in a bone-shattering hug the second she walked into the office. "Are you OK?"

For a second, Sara remained stiff in Catherine's arms. Then she relaxed. A little. "I'm fine, Cath," she said, just like she had during their earlier call.

"No, you're not." As if Sara had dropped a match into tinder, Catherine's emotions flared. Anger and frustration replaced relief. "You're not fine! You haven't been fine for weeks." Clutching Sara's arms, Catherine glared up into Sara's eyes and prepared to go on.

Sara's kiss derailed her entirely.

When Sara drew back, Catherine could only gape. "There's so much I have to tell you. So many things…" Her voice trailed off, and Catherine noticed how young, how vulnerable Sara appeared. "I had to work through a few things, Cath. I'm sorry if you thought something was wrong. Or," she added with a crooked grin, "that I was planning to leave you and Linds. I'm done running, I swear."

Emotionally off-balance, from the kiss and the lingering worry, Catherine let go of Sara stumbled back a step.

"Hey." Sara followed quickly and took Catherine's hand. "It really is OK." Her smile was gone, and an unfamiliar, serious expression took its place. She hesitated, peering down at Catherine. "You probably aren't going to be happy with most of what I have to say. Can you promise to hear me out before trying to kill me?"

"You aren't leaving?" It was the only part of Sara's comments that Catherine understood. Or it was the only part she cared about. Crazy confessions were old hat after her marriage to Eddie. And there was no way Sara was about to admit she'd had sex with a hooker or snorted coke.

With a shake of her head, Sara answered the question. "I'm not leaving unless you totally freak and chop me up for Olivia food to hide the evidence."

Sara's sincerity was palpable, and Catherine was able to relax enough to link their fingers. "Hmm, that's one I hadn't thought of. I was just going to use the chipper-shredder the next time the landscaping crew is in the neighborhood." With a squeeze, she let go of Sara's hand and got down to business. "So what's been up with you?" Hopping up, she sat on one of the counters along one wall of the lab and waited for the much-hyped explanation.

"It's good you're sitting down." Quietly, Sara said, "I had this entire conversation planned when I talked to you this morning. But things changed, and now I don't really know where to start."

Catherine gripped the edges of the countertop and didn't tell Sara to start at the beginning.

"So, um, I'm going to skip a lot and get to the big news first." Her deep breath sounded ragged. "Sam's dead, Cath."

The soft words brushed along Catherine's mind, never settling in. Just flowing around and around with increasing speed.

Sara took a step toward her. "I've been following Eddie. That's why I've been so late every day. I finally had enough evidence, pictures of him with a bunch of women and buying drugs. It was pretty damaging stuff. After I called you this morning, I met with him at a club and I told him he had to tell Sam their deal was off. That he was dropping the lawsuit. Or I'd give the photos to the court."

The whirlwind in Catherine's head slowed. "Eddie had to know Sam wouldn't stand for that." Her fingers ached, and Catherine wasn't surprised to see the white around her knuckles where they gripped the counter.

"Yeah, he mentioned that before I left him in the bar." Sara was poised halfway between Catherine's position and the door. In the harsh light of the lab, her skin looked ashen. "He must have decided to make the first move. He shot Sam in front of the Rampart not long after I left him."

"He shot Sam," Catherine repeated numbly. How had her spineless ex-husband managed such decisive action? "Is he in custody?" He'd need a really good lawyer. She knew the best, had sat across a courtroom from them for years. Despite the lawsuit and the threat of losing Lindsey, Catherine wouldn't leave Eddie to face this alone.

Cold fingers touched her arm. Sara, still looking far too pale. "He's not at the Sheriff's Office, Cath."

Catherine stopped planning and focused solely on Sara. "Where is he?"

"At the morgue. When Eddie shot Sam, Sam's bodyguards opened fire." She linked her fingers with Catherine's, the touch somehow anchoring Catherine as the world around them wavered. "They're both dead, Cath."

* * *

"They're going to put a plaque on this bench." Sara didn't open her eyes at Catherine's comment. She did, however, scoot a few inches to her left so their legs touched when Catherine sat next to her. "I mean, our most important moments as a couple have been right here on this spot."

The exaggeration was too much to resist. Opening her eyes and turning her head, Sara gave Catherine an exasperated look. "Really? _Every_ important moment?" Then Catherine's triumphant smile registered. "You bitch!"

Catherine's laughter rang through the park, the sound well worth the slight sting of her teasing.

"They're going to put a plaque, alright. Commemorating Las Vegas' newest unsolved murder," Sara said with mock menace. She relented quickly after Catherine brushed a light kiss over her cheek and rested her head on Sara's shoulder. She wrapped an arm around Catherine, pulling her even closer. "I love you, even if you do constantly make fun of me."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Sara soaked up the peace and quiet and the feel of Catherine pressed against her. They rarely had this long to just…be together.

And that was why, a few minutes later, Sara gently dislodged Catherine's head from her shoulder. "Before we have to pick Linds up from school or Grissom pages you," she said and stood up, suddenly restless. "I wanted to give you this." Reaching to the inner pocket of her jacket, Sara pulled out an envelope and thrust it at Catherine. It was unopened. She hadn't quite had the nerve to peek when it came in the mail yesterday.

"What is it?" Catherine didn't open it, either. She peered at the address and then at Sara. "Are you taking a vacation? Or did you find Olivia a new home?" She raised an eyebrow.

"A new job." Sara chuckled and admitted, "Well, I think it is. I was kind of afraid to check in case I read the interview committee wrong."

Waving the envelope, Catherine watched Sara closely. "Two things." The envelope paused, mid-air. "OK, three. One, you don't have to get a job. Linds and I both love having you home during the day, and we're doing surviving financially." When Sara started to object to that last statement, Catherine pointed the envelope at her. "Don't interrupt; I'm not finished. Two, I've lived and worked in Vegas a long time. I know _exactly _what The Orchard is. Three, you don't have to prove anything to me, Sar."

Tears blurred Sara's view of Catherine and the envelope. She blinked rapidly to clear them away. "Before we argue about any of those points, let's find out if it's even necessary." Pushing her anxiety to the side, she snatched the envelope out of Catherine's hand and ripped it open. The heavy bond paper unfolded.

_We are please to invite you to join our Upper School science faculty for the remainder of the 2000/2001 school year…_

"I'm in." Excitement bubbled, mixing with Sara's restlessness. Pulling Catherine into her arms, she whirled them around. "I'm in, Cath. And I _want _to be in." Her words tumbled together as she tried to convey all of her emotions at once. "I came to Vegas for a reason, and it wasn't to help Grissom with a case. I was bored in San Francisco. I needed a change – I just didn't know that change would be finding you and Lindsey. Learning I could live outside of the lab. Getting over my past. I'm ready to build my future with you and Linds. The Orchards is part of that. The offer is for the rest of this school year, teaching science in their Upper School. The high school so I won't be dealing with a hoard of little kids every day. If they like me," Catherine grinned, as if that was a given, "then they'll extend the contract. The salary isn't much, but they said Lindsey would be able to attend for reduced tuition, if we wanted to enroll her, too."

It got very hard to breathe as Catherine grabbed her in a bear hug. "I love you, Sara Sidle, and I think you've made an excellent start on _our _future."


End file.
